Home Again
by AnnaUnknown
Summary: Rose has a run in with the Weeping Angels and gets sent back to her universe, but not to the right time. Landing in 1868, she has to take the slow path back to the Doctor. Lucky for her, so does Captain Jack. The story of how Rose and Jack make it back to the Doctor and what happens when they're all reunited.
1. Crash World

On her first visit to the parallel universe, or Pete's World as her family jokingly referred to it as, there were obvious immediate differences from her own universe. The zeppelins were hard to miss, as was her father's life and success. But there were more things that took time and a little bit of investigation to discover.

The Hindenburg never went down in this universe, hence the popular use of the zeppelins. Dodo birds still existed, Amelia Earhart never disappeared (though she died in war later), there were six new fruits and nine new vegetables, the metric system was implemented everywhere, the constellations were in different shapes, and sugar was half as sweet as it was before.

Some changes were small, others were ginormous. There was no World War I and II in this universe - there had only been the Great War. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand had not been assassinated in the midst of the tensions rising in Europe. If it seemed strange at all that one man's death prevented an entire war, Rose passed no comment. She had seen worse stopped by far less than one man's life. From what she had read however, the lack of the first war amplified the effect of the second. The Great War raged well into the 1950s, destroyed what was left of the monarchy in Britain, and led to the fall of many European countries. It was 2007 when they arrived and the world was still recovering from the war.

Another big change was the relationship between humans and outer space. Getting into space took longer, thanks to the war. But when the human race got there, they were completely and abruptly confronted with the lifeforms from beyond their small world. The Shadow Proclamation had placed a protection on Earth that didn't allow alien life forms to enter with the intent to harm until humans had progressed to the point of being able to defend themselves. It was their way of protecting young species like the humans.

Once the humans showed intelligence however, the protection diminished. The planet had been lucky in the short thirty years since then that they hadn't been attacked too often. Torchwood was capable of handling what came their way. They had known about aliens far before they went to space and had used that to their advantage, preparing for the day that the aliens would come to their little rock. Their attitude was the same but the intent was different.

Most importantly out of everything different, there was no Doctor.

And that was perhaps the most devastating difference of all. Rose's life had revolved around the Doctor for over two years. Those years were the very best of her life and she did not know how to go on past that point.

Jackie had tried to talk Rose out of her funk in the days following their arrival in Pete's World. Time and time again she would go into Rose's new room and try to tell her how things would get better, that the pain would fade and that she would find someone new. Rose remained silent through most of it until finally she asked her mum, "Did the pain of losing Dad ever go away?" To which Jackie had no response.

And then Darlig Ulv Stranden happened. They had been in this universe for six months when the Doctor called out for her. She told Jackie, Pete, and Mickey. Anyone else would have thought she was mad. But not those three. They believed it, because they met the Doctor. So they listened to the dream. He was calling her and that night, they got into Pete's old Jeep and off they went. Just like the dream said. They followed the voice across the water, kept driving hundreds and hundreds of miles, because he was calling.

It was that day that changed everything for Rose. She was going to get back to the Doctor, come hell or high water. He said it was impossible, but Rose didn't believe it. There had to be a way to get across the void without damaging the multiverse. The Time Lords were able to do it when they were alive, and that meant that other species could too. If they found a way.

In the initial months of being in this universe, Pete had offered Rose a place at Torchwood. He was the head of the organization and even if they weren't related, Rose qualified many times over for a position. After the Doctor disappeared and Rose composed herself, she took up his offer. She could work with Torchwood on the terms that they would work on recreating the Dimension Cannons.

"The Doctor said both worlds would collapse if we did that." Pete said, wary of destroying the world for a daughter he only just started getting used to.

Rose was unyielding. "The Doctor doesn't know everything."

She was willing to work without pay. She would train relentlessly, both mentally and physically to meet the Torchwood standards. She needed no special considerations for being a Tyler. Only this one thing.

Pete tried to bluff her, claiming she wasn't in a position to negotiate such a thing with them.

"I have more experience with alien lifeforms than your entire organization combined."

She was right.

It has been two years since then.

* * *

_6:30 A.M._ An alarm blared from a small phone hooked up to a charger near the wall. It was shrill and piercing. It was also pointless. Rose Tyler was already awake, seated at the island countertop in her kitchen, clutching a cuppa. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath against the onslaught of sudden noise.

There was a time when she dreaded waking up to that noise. It signified a loss of comfort and reminded her of responsibilities she would rather ignore. There was a time when she would have snoozed that alarm five times before rising from her sleep to drudge around her flat in a sleepy haze until a good dose of caffeine brought her around.

That time had passed long ago. Now, she and sleep didn't quite get along anymore. Restless Rose, that's who she was. She needed to be occupied at all times, lest she succumb to her urge to hide herself away from the world.

In the time since Bad Wolf Bay, Rose has made good on her promise to work for Torchwood. She endured a rigorous training program for six months that included getting her A-levels, a small point of pride for her considering what had stopped her from getting them in the first place.

They worked her hard. In part, it was because they didn't think she should have a place there. Who was she to come popping in from another universe, taking a job from someone else just because her father was the director? They seemed determined to show her that she had to earn her place. So she did.

Pete was hard on her too. It was funny how it looked from the outside. The first team she was on after her training thought she'd get off easy if she screwed up. But that was quickly cleared up after she broke protocol, risking her life to try and stop someone from shooting a hostile Silurian. Pete laid her out in front of everyone for that. And, strangely, that had increased her credibility.

Now, she was a commander in her own right. Commander Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth. Granted, her team was small, consisting of six people that included Mickey and Jake, who were placed with her to keep watch over her, no matter what they said. That small team was responsible for initial alien interactions. They would investigate, mediate, and defend until whatever they were facing was beyond their capabilities.

Rose sighed. She opened her eyes to see her rather bare flat. She moved out of her parents' mansion the moment she could afford to. She loved them deeply, but she couldn't live every day hearing her mum try to give her reasons to stay in Pete's World with them. So she got a little flat and put nothing in it beyond the bare bones needed to live.

A flat didn't matter. Clothes and nicknacks didn't matter. Torchwood did. Her place was blocks away from headquarters and that was all that mattered.

Rose stacked her dishes together and placed them in the sink. She grabbed her phone off the charger, headed for the door, and started into a light jog. It was only a five block distance total to the office, but a small run was better than no run.

She slowed down as she approached the building, taking the opportunity to control her breathing and pray to whatever could possibly be listening that today would be the day that she could go home.

Who was she kidding? Today was no different than yesterday.

"Good morning, Commander!" came the chipper voice of Mary Robeson the moment Rose stepped into the cavernous lobby. She was a stout woman with short, curled hair and a smile a mile wide.

There were often jokes that Rose never left Torchwood, that she was the first one there and the last one to leave. While the latter tended to be true, the former role belonged to Mary.

"Morning, Mary. How are you?" Rose let her guard down briefly, something of her old self shining through.

"I'm perfect as always, Commander!" She chirped in reply, her smile wide as she tidied the front desk. She was a delightful woman, truly, but there was something missing in her eyes. It was not unlike talking to an android. Mary was always sunny and prepared with repeated phrases of greeting.

Rose felt immense pity for her. When Lumic's Cybermen rose up years ago, there were debates on how to handle them. People like her father wanted to round them up and get rid of them. Others said that Cybermen were people and they should help them. And in that time, people got hurt. People like Mary, who experienced a partial upgrade before her late husband saved her life. Her life was saved, but she didn't seem to feel things the way humans do. And so, she was happy all the time. Rose pitied that a great deal.

She gave Mary a soft smile before scanning into the bright, somewhat glamorous elevator lobby. Torchwood in Pete's World was every bit as flashy as they were at Canary Wharf. Rose found it distasteful, and often found herself sneering at bits of flashy interiors and shiny baubles.

At her desk, Rose flipped through reports left from the night before as she allowed the computer to slowly boot up. Torchwood received numerous reports of suspicious activity following the Cybermen. Most of them were complete rubbish.

Man claims sister-in-law is secretly a winged alien who - Rose's eyes nearly rolled right out of her head halfway through the intro. It was like they were a joke to some people, really.

"Morning, babe," came the gruff voice of Mickey Smith. Mickey, like the rest of her family, was a bright spot in this universe. He was, without a doubt, her biggest supporter in her goals of getting back home. She thought it might have something to do with his own restlessness in Pete's World, but she never pressed him on the matter.

Rose closed the files and tossed them to the end of desk. "Hey, Micks. You should see the rubbish in this stack."

Mickey snatched one up, flipping it open to read. "'Neighbor's car alarm sounds like it's getting inside my head. It's alien hypnosis.' Yeah, alright, mate, lay off the telly."

Rose snorted.

"Any updates on the cannon?" Mickey asked her as he settled into the desk next to her. Unlike Jackie, who pretended the dimension cannon project wasn't happening, Mickey did not dance around it.

"Nothin' as of yesterday," replied Rose. "Thing is, the packaging's all done, we can build up energy in 'em. But we can't find a way to push through the void without bringing the universe in with us."

"It's like a balloon, we have to find the right point to push on and we'll slide right on through." Mickey said, sipping his coffee. He leaned back in his chair, at ease in what was essentially their home in this world. "It's gonna take time."

"I know!" she snapped. He gave her a look and she sighed, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. Her voice was small, "What if it takes too long?"

Mickey was sturdy. "That's the chance you have to take. If there's anyone that can figure it out, it's us."

Rose looked at him, struck by his maturity. He was a far cry from the boy who clung to her legs at the sight of the Nestene Consciousness. He held himself with a confidence and sophistication that seemed unachievable when they were kids.

"Good morning, beautiful people!" Jake's cheerful voice ended the conversation. Rose greeted him and then immediately tuned him and Mickey out as they chattered about some football player.

The morning flew by as Rose filed paperwork. This was the dull part of the job, and it was also, unfortunately, a large part of it.

The very welcome sound of Rose's phone ringing broke the silence in the office hours later. She look heavenwards in thanks for the relief before pulling off it's hook.

"Tyler speaking."

"Commander, we have some strange readings from the Colliery in Staffordshire." The voice of Brigadier George Roberts came through to her. "The site is large, but we want your team on it today. I will be joining remotely, in case a secondary team is required."

Rose stood and gestured to her team. At once, they dropped what they were working on and got their stuff together.

"We'll come down to be debriefed now and we'll head out immediately."

* * *

Rose was standing between the seats of the driver and passenger when they pulled up to the site in question. It looked the same as any other abandoned factory. Overgrown plant life was slowly but surely overtaking the decaying building. Graffiti from local kids stained the rusted and crumbling walls.

Beyond Mickey and Jake, Rose's team consisted of Gwen Cooper, a young, Welsh woman who once was a police constable, Tricia Portman, a middle aged former PI, and Matt Brown, a young veteran. They were a solid team, if not a little disjointed. They each seemed to have their own personal agendas that ranked higher in importance than their jobs. That frustrated Rose at times, as it frequently left her with the responsibility of cleaning up after them. She wouldn't be able to do it without Mickey and Jake, who were as dedicated to defending the Earth as she was.

"Do we know which building?" Rose asked. There were over twenty buildings on the site. They'd be here all night if they didn't have a way to pinpoint the location of these aliens.

"The readings are coming from all over the place, Commander," said Matt, fiddling with a device that read the temporal energy surrounding them. "But it seems to be focused on this one -" He pointed to the fitter's shop.

Rose glanced at the screen, noting how it was densely packed in the center of the smattering of buildings. She looked up and saw nothing. There was no movement, no noise, nothing.

"Surround the perimeter of the area and I'll do a walkthrough. See if we can identify from a safe distance before making an approach. It could a lifeform without a body."

They unloaded from the van, each carrying weapons and tech to make scans as needed. On each of them was a radio that connected them to each other as well as to Brigadier Roberts, whose own team was three kilometers away, waiting in the wings for any sign of a threat.

"Stay safe, boss," said Jake, giving her a small salute. She nodded once at him and gave the signal for them to spread out.

Rose stalked through the overgrown grass as the team moved out. Protocol dictated that she have her gun at the ready as she approached, but she was never really one for the rules.

As she got closer to the building, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The energy they were reading must be strong enough to be tangible. Rose found it odd that it was still silent.

There were rusting metal doors hanging onto the frame. A chain held them to lock together, but the rust and decay was so much so that she was able to pull them apart with little effort. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark of the inside of the building. There were flashes of light from the holes in the ceiling and she could see that the inside was just as delipidated as the outside. Debris was littered across the ground, parts of the structure fallen inward.

The odd thing about the site was not the decay, but the presence of a bunch of statues. As Rose crept forward, she took notice of how the statues were littered throughout the space. Now, she was no expert on industrial era factories, but in her universe, they certainly didn't make stone statues.

Rose walked past them slowly, weaving her way into the building. The unease she felt coming into the building was starting to build. She jumped at the sound of her radio crackling through the quiet.

Mickey's voice came over, "Rose, we're getting a whole lot of energy readings out of there. What the hell is going on?"

Rose pulled the radio close to her face and pressed the com button, "I don't know. There's nothing in here, just statues. No one's here."

The only way to make the scene more perfect would be eerie music that built as she edged forward. Rose grimaced at the thought. Something was happening but she couldn't figure it out and the anticipation was sending her heart into overdrive. There must have been dozens of these statues. All of them had their hands hovering over their eyes.

"Are you seeing anything?" Gwen asked over the radio.

Rose brought it up to her face. "Nothing so far. Just these statues everywhere. They look like angels or something. Bloody creepy."

She started to reach for her gun. It was time to stop playing the role of the pacifist. Whatever these creatures were, they couldn't be good.

There was a rustling behind her that made her jump. Turning quickly, she spotted a silhouette that differed from the statues. It moved twitchily, like it was afraid.

"Wait! There's someone in here. Human, from the looks of it," Rose relayed to the team quickly before putting her radio back on her hip. She moved forward into the light. She waved to get the person's attention. They turned. It was a middle aged man and he was terrified.

"Hello, who are you?" Rose asked, trying to sound gentle while sure of herself. She took a step towards him.

He scrambled away from her, making her freeze midstep. "No! No, stay back! D-don't come near me!"

"What? I'm here to help! What's wrong? What's here?" Rose tried to come closer to him but he backed away further. He stumbled into a statue. He looked up at it and then yelped, jumping away again.

Rose looked between the statues and the man. He was afraid of them.

"Is it them? What are they?"

He shook his head violently, spluttering. "L-leave me alone! I don't want to die! Please!"

Rose tried again to approach the wildly twisting man. Then, there was a shout. She flinched. When her eyes opened, she was blown away by what she saw.

The man was gone.

Rose jumped, horrified. _Oh my god…_

The statues. It had to be them. They were the only other thing that had moved since

"I am Commander Rose Tyler. I represent Torchwood, an organization that acts as a mediator and a protector between Sol 3 and alien life forms. Identify yourselves."

There was silence. The unease building in her was unbearable. The only sound was her ragged breathing. She blinked again and in that short millisecond, she heard shuffling and laughter.

Rose spun in a circle, trying to see all of the statues. Something moved. Something had to have moved. But if the only thing in here was the statues -

"Code Mauve! Get out of here, _now_! The statues are alive, I repeat, the _statues_ are alive!" Rose was shouting into her radio.

She blinked. And then screamed.

In that short millisecond, all of the statues had turned and moved towards her, horrifying grimaces etched across their faces.

She stumbled backwards until she felt the dreaded wall behind her. She was at least twenty meters from the door she came through and the statues were surrounding her. She reached for her gun but in her panic, dropped it. She couldn't risk reaching for it, because if she did, she would have to look away from them.

"Rose, report!" Mickey's voice snapped through the radio. They must have heard her scream from the outside.

Rose kept her eyes wide open, determined to not take an eye off of these creatures.

"Brigadier Roberts, do you copy?" Rose said, her voice even despite how her nerves shook. She ignored Mickey.

"Affirmative, Commander. 10-2."

Rose took a shaky breath.

"There's no way out. I'm cornered. The statues seem to move when you look away from them. I lost my gun." Rose took a deep breath. "Matt, is the temporal energy concentrated where I am?"

A million ideas were running through her mind. _I could reach for the gun and blow them all to bits, but I would probably only manage to get half of them before one of them manages to kill me. My team could attack from the rear, but there was still only five of them and dozens of these things._

"Mostly yes. There seems to be some coming from fan house and the lamp house. Those are to the west and southeast of your location."

She licked her lips. "And your location?"

"We are on the outermost perimeter of the site."

It might have been disturbing that Rose was placated by the fact that her team was away from the point of danger. She shouldn't have come in here alone. It was too late for that, though.

"Brigadier, I'm afraid we are going to have to turn to desperate measures today. These creatures will not identify themselves. They are stone, and they look like angels. It seems that they don't move unless you look away from them. And when you look away from them, they kill you." Rose tried to manage as clinical of a description as she could. They would need the information to have for future reference if these creatures ever appear again.

"As Commander of this mission, I believe the best course of action is to destroy the buildings in question whilst the creatures remain inside. The danger they present to humans is too steep to trust diplomatic measures."

Rose's heart jumped when Mickey shouted through the radio. "No bloody way! Absolutely _not_, we will find another way -"

The radio cut off. Jake probably forced him to stop. To talk about it, maybe. She didn't know. They had been in this position many times before and she didn't think it warranted a debate at this point. One life or everyone's?

Rose was starting to get antsy as the radio stayed silent.

Finally, the Brigadier: "I can override your order, Tyler. It might be your mission, but I rank higher."

Because this was the time for an ego trip. Rose would have rolled her eyes if she could.

"You can, but you won't. My life is not worth that of everyone else's. Who knows the damages this lifeform can cause if it gets to the public? Follow my order."

There was silence on the radio and Rose imagined there was some sort of fuss being made on the other end.

"I commend you for your bravery, Commander. It will be done." Roberts was short with her, but his voice held the gravity of respect for her decision.

Rose's eyes were watering from the strain of remaining open for so long. She gave in and allowed herself a short blink.

Her breath caught in her throat when the statues moved so close she could touch them.

"Mickey, do you copy?" Rose said, the weight of what was about to happen finally entering her voice. She was going to die and these were her final words.

"I'm here," he said, dropping the pretense of their formality. "Don't do this, babe. We can find a way -"

"_Oi_, shut up, you! I've got some things to say and you ought to listen to 'em," her cockney accent was coming through heavily. Mickey fell silent. She wished there wasn't eight people listening in on the conversation, but what choice did she have? "Tell my family that I love them - always. They are the best of me and I'm sorry I haven't been there like I should be. If you ever see the Doctor again, don't -"

Here Rose took a minute to calm her breathing. Any mention of the Doctor made her upset. The first time in two years she had mentioned him and it was to make sure the news of her death would be told to him gently. Life really was a bitch.

"Let him know." She didn't have to say more than that. Mickey knew. Her parents knew. "And Micks? I love you. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, you deserved better. You're the best friend I could've asked for. Have a _fantastic_ life."

She pulled the radio away from her mouth. With sweaty hands, she turned off the communicator. Whatever Mickey had to respond to that, she didn't want to hear it. It would break her heart and she couldn't go bravely into her decision.

Slowly, Rose let go of the breath she had been holding. She reached up to her neck where on a chain, a key hung. She wrapped her hand around the key and she closed her eyes.


	2. Long Way Home

She was upside down. Or sideways. Or...something. But she certainly wasn't standing upright. She was moving, too. She thought so anyway. It felt like she was in a freefall almost. But, floating? There wasn't a way to describe it. A bit 'down-the-rabbit-hole.'

Rabbit – what is a rabbit?

_Who cares? _She told herself. Whatever it was, it made sense. It didn't make sense. It did. One of those.

She was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Honestly, it was the strongest high she had ever felt. Or was it more like dissociation?

_I don't know what that means. _

She chanced opening her eyes only to shut them at once at the sight of bursting, swirling light and color. She could still sort of see the light behind her eyelids. In that moment, she could have sworn she had seen faces in the colors. People talking and laughing and crying. They were all so alive. And then they weren't.

_Who am I? _She thinks she was asking herself that question. She didn't know who or even _what _she was. Or where she was. Or how she got there. She should ask where she was. Identity is a silly matter, location was a bit more pressing. There was...howling?

A scream came from within the howling, a duality to it that was haunting. It sounded familiar. Almost like it came from herself. But it couldn't possibly – _Who am I?_

_ You are the BAD WOLF!_

The words were a lightning strike. At once, her body jerked up and a loud gasp erupted from her. Her eyes snapped open and immediately closed again as she retched onto the ground next to her. Her body convulsed as her stomach emptied their contents. The howling in her ears was overwhelming everything else.

She might have been dry heaving for days. She certainly couldn't tell. Around the time that she started wishing for death, her body finally began to get control of itself.

She was on the ground now. It was cold, and damp. It smelled like dirt and a recent rainstorm. As she risked opening her eyes again, she saw green grass and a grey sky. Relief flooded her.

_I'm alive, _she thought, pushing back from her mess. Looking down at her body, she noted that she was still in her proper clothes, not a thread out of order. Slowly, she patted down her body, noting what was there and what wasn't. No radio. No phone. No gun. There was a knife at her ankle. Her boots were scuffed but still intact. The nape of her neck was slick with sweat, her hair was _definitely _a mess, and her bottom lip was split.

All in all: could be worse. Well…no, it could be, but this was bad. All she could remember was forcing Mickey and her team to kill her while she faced down the statues.

Perhaps, she thought, she was wrong about the statues. Maybe they didn't kill people but displaced them in some way. She'd seen that sort of thing before at the Game Station.

A sudden wave of panic hit her. Her key!

Her hands scrambled for her neck, searching desperately for the chain she wore everywhere. When her fingers found it and pulled upwards, she nearly collapsed with relief at the feeling of the TARDIS key slipping up her chest. Fingers shaking, she clasped the key and pulled it to her mouth. She kissed it reverently, eyes closed, heart slowly calming down.

It was silly what a little key could do. But that key symbolized all the hope she had in the world.

When she opened her eyes again and slipped the key back below her jumper, she finally stood. The grass surrounding her was up to her knee. A half a kilometer in every direction were trees. There was nothing else. No mountains in the background, no running water that she could hear, and no damage to the area that would signify her arrival.

Rose Tyler was in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. She had no communicators, a single knife, a busted lip, and a TARDIS key.

Rose tilted her head back and let out a deep sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. This was her lot.

She put herself back on task, picked a direction, and started walking.

* * *

Rose felt like she was walking forever by the time she came across what looked like a traveling path. It had easily been a few hours. Not sure which way to go, she picked left. It might be south, but she had nothing to determine that with. They ought to have done more navigational training in Torchwood, even if her training was rushed.

She counted her blessings though. It was, at the very least, warm out. If she had ended up in a snow bank somewhere, she would be feeling a whole lot worse.

"Look at me – being _grateful,"_ she muttered to herself. She was wishing that she would get another blessing in the form of still being in England. If only she could be so lucky.

There was a faint noise coming from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw nothing. Deciding to dismiss as nature, she walked on.

Mere moments later, the noise grew louder. It sounded like a horse. She did a double take over her shoulder, making out what was coming her way. The shock made her trip over a root on the path. She gasped loudly as she fell, hitting the ground hard and groaning at the jolting feeling through her head.

She gave herself a moment to check herself over again. Scraped palms and definite bruises forming on her knees. She rocked herself back onto her heels and stood, turning to face what had distracted her in the first place.

It was a carriage. A proper horse and buggy. Who in the world still traveled in those? Well, the Amish, she supposed. There went her hope of being in England. Though, like a child, she clung to it. Surely there were British people who still carried on like that.

If she could get them to stop, she could find out where she was, maybe a hitch a ride to a nearby town, and then contact Pete to get home. Her poor mum was probably sick with grief now, and that simply wouldn't do. Rose couldn't even think of little Tony.

As the carriage drew closer, she could see the driver lean back and say something to the buggy. He paused, then said something more. Whatever the response was, he nodded once. Rose put on a shaky smile and waved at the man.

"Hello! Would you be able to help me?" Rose asked as he got close enough to hear her. To her shock, he spared her only a tight smile before fixing his eyes forward and ignoring her.

"Please!" She begged as the carriage slowly went right by her. She could make out the faint image of faces behind the sheer fabric covering the windows observing her. Was it her imagination, or were they impassive to her obvious plight? Desperate now, she called out after it, "I don't know where I am! Please help me!"

To her disbelief, the driver didn't even turn his head.

"Stop!" A woman's voice called out from within the buggy. The driver called out the horses immediately, slowing them to a stop.

Rose let out a sigh of relief and walked quickly down the road to it. The driver shot her a look over his shoulder that was part curiosity, part warning. She tried to smile at him again, but he promptly turned away from her. Tough crowd.

As she approached the side of the carriage, she could begin to make out voices from within.

A woman's voice: "- just _ask! _She could be lost!"

A harsh, masculine voice cut in next. "And what concern is that to us?"

"Shame on you! Would you want someone to come across our daughters in such a state and –" The voice abruptly stopped. Moments passed. Rose imagined they were still discussing the issue.

She was shifting her weight from foot to foot and trying to maintain awareness of her surroundings. Just as the driver was beginning to shift uncomfortably, the door to the buggy swung open sharply. Rose leaned back warily.

An aging man appeared, stomping down the step to the ground. He had a severe face with a heavy brow. He was dressed in an old-fashioned suit with a bowler hat. If Rose couldn't tell from the driver, his clothes spelled out that he was monied.

"You girl! What is your business on this road?" He barked at her.

Rose flinched. She looked around her to see no one else on the road and the sun starting to set. "Hi, I, uh – I don't know where I am?"

The face of the woman who had stopped the carriage leaned out, a kindly smile dressing her face. "Oh, you're British?"

"I think? I'm sorry, I woke up in a field a long way off the road. I-I don't know how I got there." Rose rambled. She put a hand to her head. "Everything is a bit, well, empty."

"Do you know your name, dear?" The comely woman asked her, her face crinkling in concern.

"M-Marion? I think - I'm not sure," stammered Rose. Privately, she thought, _I'd make a damn fine actress._

"That's a pretty name," the woman said, her smile soft and assuring. Rose gave her a shaky smile in return.

"Um, would you –" Rose looked around, playing up the confusion she felt. "You wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?"

What a stupid question that was, she thought. The man thought so too, judging by the deepening of his scowl.

"You're in Orange County, Miss." At her blank look, he went on. "In New York, the United States of America."

The United – this _really _was her lot. The United States didn't get along with Torchwood. They were one of the few countries left that didn't comply with Torchwood's management of galactic relations. They believed, quite arrogantly, that they could handle things themselves. The amount of paperwork this incident would cause was nauseating. She would have to delay her project by months to help Pete and her team deal with the bureaucratic nonsense of tense international relations. She shook her head to stop herself from thinking too negatively.

Rose cringed at how silly this next question sounded, but she had to know. There was time when she often had to ask this question, only then she had someone by her side to look as silly as her.

"M'sorry, but what year is it?" Rose asked. The woman seemed startled by her question. Memory loss must be a shocking thing wherever she was. Or _when_ever she was. She felt dread flood through her at the thought that she was far from the year she ought to be in. Her initial hope that these people were Amish died with the woman's words.

"1868."

In one go, her breath left her. Rose's eyes rolled, and her world went black.

* * *

Rose was woken by the sound of voices hissing back and forth near her. She opened her eyes and immediately shut them when the discomfort the action caused screamed at her to slow down. She was unbelievably uncomfortable. Whatever she was lying on was stiff and too small for her body.

More slowly this time, she carefully opened her eyes, blinking to clear the haze from them. The voices were muffled, but as her mind adjusted to the confusion, she began to catch the words.

"- who knows what happened to her? Honestly, the state of her!"

A now familiar male voice growled back, "The state of her is precisely the issue, Laura! She could be a harlot for all we know."

Who's a harlot? Rose looked down at herself and reckoned it was probably her. It wouldn't be the first time she had been called a variation of that.

"And I suppose that means she deserves whatever happened to her?" The female voice snapped. Her voice dropped to a hiss. "Shame on you, husband!"

"Where am I?" Rose muttered as she sat up, leaning on her elbows to observe her surroundings. She was curled into a small sofa that could use some more cushioning. The room was moderately spacious with high ceilings. The seating, all of which looked as unwelcoming as the one she occupied, was arranged facing a fireplace with a landscape painting hanging over it. The fire was flickering the only light across the room. The windows were adorned with heavy drapes and gave a view to a blackened exterior. Night had fallen. It was sunset last she could remember.

Everything came rushing back to her. She was in America in the 1860s with absolutely no way to contact her team. They believed her to be dead, and with over a century between her and them, they weren't wrong.

The voices from behind her came to a stop with thudding footsteps up what sounded like stairs.

The woman from the carriage bustled into the room, seeming set to check on Rose. She had the appearance of someone delightfully surprised when her eyes fell on Rose sitting up, awake, head cranked to look over her shoulder at the door.

"Oh, good, you're awake, dear! You took quite the fall back there."

"Um...hi?" Rose squeaked. She swung her legs off the sofa to sit properly. "Sorry, where am I?"

The woman moved to sit at the other end of the sofa, facing Rose. "Oh! After you, well, fainted, we decided to bring you to our home. It wouldn't do to leave you on the road. I mean, those _clothes."_

The woman muttered the last part and Rose tried her best to ignore it. How could she explain clothing made of fabrics that wouldn't exist for decades?

"Thank you, I s'pose. We're still in New York?" She asked, just to clarify. On the off chance she had imagined that part.

"Yes."

"1868?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Right."

To Rose's great frustration, she felt herself begin to cry. The fear and isolation clawed at her chest. 1868. It was nearly a hundred years before her parents would even be born. For the first time, she was completely and utterly alone. No family, no friends, and no Doctor.

The woman, seeing Rose's tears, scooched over on the sofa and took her hand.

"I just – I don't know what to do!" She cried. She dug the heel of her free hand into her eye. Some part of her was remembering to keep the memory loss façade mixed with the real distress she felt. "I don't know who I am or where I'm from or how to get home! 'M completely alone!"

"There, there, dear. We will help you find your way home, I promise you," said the woman, gently. She murmured soft, sweet nothings as Rose cried into her hand. The comforting voice reminded her of home and she wasn't sure if it made the whole thing worse.

Rose took some shuddering breaths attempting to gather herself. She could pity herself when she was alone.

"M'sorry for all the fuss," Rose said as her tears slowed to a stop. It dawned on her that she didn't know this woman's name. With an undignified sniffle to gather herself, she put on a smile. "I realize I haven't asked who you are."

"Oh! I am Laura Allen. The surly gentleman from earlier is my husband, George," Laura gave Rose a commiserating look. "We have two daughters, Anna and Margaret, and a son, George. You won't see Anna and George, both married and starting their own families. Margaret is too young to marry still. She is just darling, the very image of an angel."

Rose gave a more legitimate smile at the love Laura held for her daughter. "She sounds lovely."

"You will get to see for yourself when you meet her tomorrow!"

Rose's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow?"

"Well, of course you will be staying here with us."

Despite seeing the obvious wealth in the style of the room, Rose felt a deep guilt for dropping into the lives of these people. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly impose on you that way!"

Laura frowned. "Where else would you go, dear?"

Rose had to concede that point. She would most likely end up dead trying to find her way through the night.

"We have sent word to have a doctor come to see you as soon as possible. Perhaps there is something to be done about your memory. In the meanwhile, we have empty rooms and plenty of room at our table. It is our Christian duty to extend our blessings to you in your time of need."

In all her time traveling, Rose had faced many horrible things. There was war and death, cruelty and pure evil. There were things she had seen that tested her ability to believe in goodness. Other times, there were moments of kindness and love that took her breath away. It was there in the people willing to sacrifice their lives for others. It was there on those days where everyone lived. And it was there in this moment, with this woman who was so willing to lend a helping hand to a woman she had never met. This woman who was taking her into her home, offering to house her, feed her, and tend to her until she recovered, unknowing that Rose would never recover.

In this moment, looking at Laura's kindly eyes and genuine expression, Rose felt her heart burn in her chest with admiration for the tenderness one person could possess. She grasped Laura's hand.

"Thank you," said Rose, her voice full of gratitude that could never truly be expressed.

Laura simply smiled, squeezing her hand gently. She pulled something red from her dress pocket.

"Would you like an apple, dear? You look peckish after a long day. I would offer something else, but we dined already, and we try not to bother our staff this late. They rise far earlier than us, after all."

Rose's heart felt like it was in her throat again. Her hand to her chest, she managed to choke out. "An _apple?"_

For what felt like the millionth time today, Rose's whole world was rocked with one word. There weren't any apples in Pete's World. They had something similar, called a 'mila.' They were red, smaller, and their insides were pink. They were also quite difficult to obtain. A shame considering how much Rose and her mum enjoyed them. Unless this was a vivid dream, she had been offered an apple, not a mila. And if she had heard this woman correctly, then -

Laura took her wrist and placed the fruit in her hand. Rose started crying again. She was _home_. The wrong time, but the right universe.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying out. After all this time, she was finally home. She spent two years searching for a way back to this universe, back to _him. _Every minute she was not working or training, she was working with the best scientists Torchwood had to offer. And now, in some freak accident, she was home.

Laura patted Rose's knee and rose from the bed. "I cannot imagine what you are enduring, my dear. We will do our best to help you find your way home."

_You're a bit out of your depth, _came the sardonic thought. Rose felt ashamed immediately. It was not this family's fault that Rose was here. It was also not their fault that she had no way out.

The lack of reply did not bother Laura.

"While you eat, I will prepare a room for you. Some of my daughter's old dresses should fit you nicely. Then you can get a good bit of rest, see if that helps!"

As she left her alone, Rose tried to think about what she knew of the world in 1868. It wasn't much, to her frustration. She might have gotten her A-Levels, but it's not like covering history in a different universe was going to help her much here.

1868\. There was no organization for dealing with alien lifeforms yet, that much she knew. She _was _partly the reason Torchwood was created after all, and that wouldn't be for another eleven years. Even if it was around already, there was an active order to detain her, or worse, if she stepped foot on British lands. She could risk it. It was not an option she liked, but if it came to that, she could try it.

The other option was more of a gamble. The Doctor visited Earth at all points of time. There was a high chance he would be on Earth at any given year, but where? When? How would Rose be able to pinpoint that without any tech to get temporal readings? Better yet, how could she find the right Doctor? She could travel to Cardiff and hitch a ride with the version of herself and her first Doctor in 1869. That idea almost had her excited, but she didn't remember that happening so that option was out.

She was going to have to lay low. However long it took, she would find her way to the Doctor. And if that means staying with the Allen's for now, then so she shall.


	3. A Chance Encounter

_August, 1870._

_Manhattan, New York._

Rose remembered a quote from some point in school. It said something about how all happy families were alike and every unhappy family was uniquely unhappy. Rose had seen many unhappy families growing up on the Estates. There were kids without parents, kids with bad parents, abusive relationships, drug use: you name it. This, paired with her limited knowledge of life beyond the working class, led her to assume that people with money tended to have happy families. That view slowly changed as she traveled more with the Doctor, but life with the Allens gave her a behind the scenes look beyond the happy façade those families displayed.

George Allen was unsurprisingly born into money. He had inherited not only the house in Orange County, but a townhouse in Manhattan, which he granted to his son upon his marriage. He also inherited a healthy sum of money that could have allowed him to go without work for most of his life. He chose, however, to work in law. With all of this in mind, one could imagine him to be a normal man with a kindly disposition. They'd be wrong. George was every bit as harsh and stiff as he presented himself the night Rose met him.

When the Civil War erupted in the United States, men above the age of 35 could have reasonably expected to not have to fight. But, as Rose found out, the numbers of volunteers dwindled, and the government was forced to draft men to fight for the cause. Their age range went up to 40, and so, George Allen was called to fight. The bitterness of surviving the horrors of war was something Rose could appreciate, but she found his approach to be reprehensible. Especially as it pertained to his sweet wife.

Laura was the picture of tenderness. She ran the household with a warm, welcoming presence that banished worries in her company. Ashamedly, on her bad days, Rose found herself wondering if it was an act. After all, how could someone maintain geniality in the face of a brutish husband and, frankly, disappointing children? But then Rose would remind herself that not everyone had an agenda. Some people existed exactly as they presented themselves. Rose could hardly remember how it felt when she was one such person.

It seemed, when it came to the eldest of her children, that Laura's tenderness discredited her. Her son, George, was inaccurately named for his father. Where George Senior was cold and dismissive, his son was highly emotional and callous. He was prone to ridiculous outbursts that could only be reined in by a short command from his father. Rose pitied Alice, George's far-too-young wife, who rarely spoke and looked ready to hide.

Anna, the eldest Allen daughter, was of the same vein as her brother. She was far better at concealing her contempt for anything that wasn't herself. She had Rose fooled at first. When she met Anna and her husband, Joseph, they were simply lovely. Until they gathered round a table for cards, anyway. Then Anna played her hand. A few snide comments about her accent, the way she talked, and her "plain" appearance were enough for Rose to get the message.

Luckily for Rose, she did not have to suffer the company of those bullies often. Laura lamented the loss of her children to marriage, but she was the only one. Her solace was her youngest daughter, Margaret, who was as every bit angelic as Laura proclaimed her. Rose found herself adoring the girl the moment she saw her wide, toothy smile and wispy hair.

overall, Rose wasn't quite sure what to make of the Allens. On some days, she was grateful to the point of worship for the endless kindness Laura extended to her. On other days, their dysfunction made Rose sick with discomfort. The access she had to their privacy was incredible. She was a stranger in their home, far more unknown to them than they were even aware of. Yet, they acted as though she had always been there. A piece of furniture that does not notice their arguments, the tear tracks often left on Laura's face, the stifling silences at dinners with the whole family.

If there was one thing to be certain of, Rose hated everything about this time period. What once appealed to her as adventure in a culture she had only ever seen in film turned out to be a restrictive, dull nightmare. She knew next to nothing about the reality of the culture, etiquette, and norms before she ended up here. Now that she did, thanks to the thorough education from Laura, she longed achingly for the 21st century.

Blues and purples were swirling in front of her. The colors of the ribbon hanging loosely in her hand were blurring in her eyes. She realized she had zoned out. Shaking herself, she let go of the tail of the ribbon and looked around her quickly. No one was paying her any mind.

It had been two years since Rose returned to this universe. They were some of the worst years of her life. Between her etiquette lessons and stuffy social events, she desperately sought out places to be alone. At first, she cried often, much like she had when she first landed in Pete's World. The unfairness of it all, coupled with despair, left her feeling hollow.

Eventually, the ability to weep left her. She just felt empty. The moments alone to cry turned into moments to finally relax from the show she put on for the Allens. For all they knew, she was happily adjusting to a life without her past.

After six months of conferring with doctors and making inquiries in the major cities of the U.S., there were no answers. Laura despaired over Rose's loss, to Rose's great shame. But there was nothing to be done. No one was looking for a blonde woman named Marion. No one was looking for a blonde woman at all. As the chances of finding her home dwindled, the Allens agreed that it was best for her to remain with them. Or at least Laura framed it that way, as she was sure Laura and Margaret were the only ones who cared at all.

It was thanks to Margaret's affection for her that she came to Manhattan so frequently. Her governess, a somewhat mean-spirited woman named Mrs. Davis, brought the child to the city to learn piano (as she had no musical skill herself). Margo, as they called her, wanted Rose to come with them, though she never sat through the lessons themselves.

Instead, she wandered around the markets, using the spending money Laura gave her to retrieve things for the family.

Rose turned away from the ribbon and moved to the bolts of fabric lining the wall. Learning to sew had been a slow process, but she was learning. One of the Allens' neighbors had a two-year-old daughter. A little dress should be simple enough to make.

Getting the attention of a shopkeeper, Rose pointed to the bolts she was interested in. "I need three yards of the light blue cotton and four of the yellow."

The man's face was gnarled, and it seemed to grow more so at her request. He wiped his hands on his apron and gave her a once over.

"That'll be 1.84."

Rose struggled to keep her affront from showing. "How? It should be 1.75."

"The blue is 28 per."

"Since when?! It was 25 last week!" said Rose, outraged. The price lists had been read off to her by the household staff to let her know what to expect.

He sneered at her. "If you don't _fancy _it, you can get your cotton elsewhere!"

Rose handed over the coins, muttering about robbery. There was no sort of price regulation here and it was driving her mad. The shop owners could change price from one customer to the next. Her English accent certainly didn't win her any favors either. Nearly a hundred years since the Revolution, and some people were holding onto a grudge.

Rose held her tongue as she watched the man haphazardly fold her fabrics and shove them across the table to her. She smiled tightly and turned on her heel, pressing the fabrics into her basket.

The street was bustling as Rose stepped out of the shop. The heat was oppressive, and she tried to stick to the shadows where she could, avoiding the nefarious puddles near the buildings.

Buying fabric had been her only goal for the afternoon and Rose was struggling to find ways to occupy herself. She was dreadfully bored. There was still a decent amount of time before Margo would be ready to return to the country. She had popped in and out of shops along the markets, looking at everything from food to trinkets to furniture.

Days like this gave Rose plenty of time to herself, to get lost in her thoughts without a complete sense of isolation as she would get at the grounds of the Allens home. Here, she could escape the presence of the family that has been both her savior and, now, her oppressor, in a sense. If it wasn't enough for her to be separated from the Doctor, her family, her friends, and her proper time, she now had to face the negative side of the Allens' excessive goodwill.

* * *

_May, 1870._

_Orange County, New York._

The Allens had a modest staff for their house. They weren't endowed enough for a full staff one would see with the extremely wealthy, but they had enough to have a sliver of luxury. They had a housekeeper, a cook, a butler, a coachman (who doubled as a stable manager), a governess, and two maids. There were various men to tend to the land the Allens lived on as well, though they changed frequently.

Rose, naturally, spent a good deal of time with the serving staff. It was not only people with whom she felt far more familiar, it was also expected of her. The Allens never expressed that they wished for her to work for them, but it seemed to go without saying that she was from a lower class of people. She would eat at the table with the family and she had plenty of leisure time, but she spent a lot of time helping the staff with their tasks. Free labor for the Allens, safety and protection for Rose.

And so, Rose found herself in the kitchen of the Allens home one afternoon. The heat of the approaching summer was creeping up on them, leading them to crack open any window they could for the chance of a breeze.

She was working her hands into fresh dough, trying her best to knead it. But, if the chuckles from the Mr. Reading, the cook, and Emma, one of the maids, were any indicator, she was doing a shoddy job.

"We've got to work on those arms, girl!" chortled Mr. Reading from beside her as a piece of the dough tore off. He pushed her hands aside and worked the dough over, forcing it to his will.

Rose huffed with frustration and used her wrist to push some stubborn hair from her face. "This is far more difficult than it looks."

"You could say that of anything, if you see someone who's been at it long enough," remarked Emma. She was leaning over the counter with a cheeky smile. "I think you like to see us girls struggle, Mr. Reading."

Mr. Reading tossed the dough up. His satisfied smile when the dough smacked onto the table without puddling made Rose huff. He smirked at her.

"You two? Never! The others, well, maybe."

Rose shared a wicked glance with Emma. "Mrs. Davis?"

"Oh, especially that one!" said the cook with a scowl. "Just last week she said my roast was undercooked. _Undercooked?! _I'll show her undercooked –"

Mr. Reading's growling voice and the giggles of the two women were filling the room when Mrs. Peterson walked in with a basket of linens on her hip. Immediately, the three tried to stifle their laughter, giving quivering smiles to the woman.

She gave them a good impersonation of a stern stance with her hand on her hip. With a risen eyebrow, she said, "I do hope we won't be having a talk about gossiping."

"If that were the case, we'd be talking about Emma's beau with the nice bum," replied Rose, waggling her eyebrows and smirking at a suddenly bright red Emma.

Mr. Reading flopped the dough onto the board again, much louder than before. He protested, "My innocent senses are being assaulted!"

"The last thing I think you can claim to be, dear Reading, is innocent!" laughed Rose.

Mary Peterson dropped the linen basket on a table near the door and came around the island to join Rose and Mr. Reading over the food. She was a greying woman who, despite her status, presented herself rather regally with her hair perfectly set atop her head and her dress immaculate.

"A poor influence he may be, but those pies sure make keeping him around worthwhile," teased Mrs. Peterson. For all her strict presentation, she was lighthearted woman.

"What did I do to be harassed in my own kitchen?"

"Don't fear, dear cook, I'll protect you from these savage wenches!" Emma wielded a wooden spoon coated in flour, waving it silly at Rose and Mrs. Peterson. Quick, Rose snatched a towel and snapped it playfully next to Emma, sparring with the girl.

The two women parried for a few moments while Mrs. Peterson and Mr. Reading looked on. When Emma admitted defeat with a giggle, Rose used the towel to wipe her hands.

"So, my dear, sweet Mary -" Rose put her arm around Mrs. Peterson's waist and smiled at her. She had her most charming grin on. "What can I do for you today?"

Mrs. Peterson placed a hand on her back and huffed. "Save my poor house from that wretched girl for starters."

"Oh, be nice! She's trying!"

Mrs. Peterson took the care of the household seriously. Unfortunately, the maid that served with Emma was a simple girl named Liz. Liz was somewhat careless and fickle.

"She could do for trying harder. She used shoe polish on the silver this morning!"

Rose waved the worry off. "A simple mistake!"

"Marion is far kinder than us, Mrs. Peterson," said Emma, commiserating with Mrs. Peterson.

Mr. Reading snorted as he worked. "Kind? That heathen?"

Rose slipped away from Mrs. Peterson to point a finger at the cook. "Oi, hush you! Or I'll let it slip to Mrs. Davis just who has been feeding little Margo all those sweets!"

Mr. Reading mockingly glared at her.

Mrs. Peterson tutted at their play. "That's enough chatter for now, I think. Marion, why don't you - Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Davis. What can we do you for?"

Mrs. Davis had appeared in the doorway. She cut a harsh figure and was scowling at the lot of them. There was no love lost between the governess and the rest of the staff. There were bets running as to when she would be replaced.

"I have been sent for Miss Smith. Mr. Allen requests your presence in his office."

Rose shared a startled look with the rest of the staff. Emma bit her lip nervously and Mr. Reading shrugged helplessly. This was completely out of the ordinary and it sucked the joy they had been previously feeling right out of the room.

She removed the apron she wore and smoothed her dress. Mrs. Davis stepped aside in the doorway, allowing Rose to make her way past the threshold and into the hallways that would lead her to the study.

Once there, Rose stood outside George's study for a moment longer than necessary. The mahogany door loomed like a threat in front of her. She had never been in this room before. She didn't know what about this meeting made her feel as though something bad was coming for her.

After she took a moment to calm her racing heart, she raised a hand and knocked lightly on the door. She cringed at the order to enter from the other side and opened the door.

The room beyond had as heavy an ambience as the door itself did. The décor was trying for a level of wealth that the Allens weren't quite at. Overall, it was nice, but Rose would gladly switch the wood paneling on the walls for something fresher. Thankfully, the windows lining one of the walls were propped open.

Rose gently closed the door behind her, lingering near it in hopes that she could duck back out of it. The man in question was seated behind his desk, reading from papers.

"Mr. Allen, sir," she greeted him, a tight smile on her face. He was not a man that was swayed by her usual charm, that was certain. Sparing her nothing more than a glance, he gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk.

"Miss Smith, take a seat." Rose complied and sat on the edge of the seat. George took a moment more to finish what he was reading then put it aside and took off his glasses. Observing her across the desk, he said, "I have been having some thoughts about your place with this family."

This startled Rose further. "My – my place, sir?"

"Yes. You have been with us for some time now. There have been no changes in your condition and no insight as to where you are from."

George spoke as though he had no awareness of her growing anxiety. She swallowed.

"No, sir."

"I think it is time we moved forward," he said with the air of someone who had already decided the matter entirely.

"In what way, Mr. Allen?"

"Put the memory loss and the lack of background behind us all and commence with your life." Rose's eyebrows went up. She had no idea what he was talking about. "You are a young woman, very likely around the age of 20. You are in your prime. It is perfectly reasonable to find a man for you to marry."

_"Marry?"_ Rose gasped. Her hands and feet felt numb and tingly. She struggled to find words to fit the emotions overpowering her mind. "B-but what if –"

George cut her off gruffly. "We have been working with 'what-if's' regarding you for the past two years. We cannot go on like this forever. Life must go on."

Rose stared at him, jaw open. He remained impassive as ever, leaned back in his chair with his hands rested on his belly.

"Why can't I become a maid in your home? 'M halfway there already!" snapped Rose, losing the control on her anger for a moment.

"My daughter believes it would be a sin to turn a lost soul such as yourself into a domestic servant, no matter your willingness to lower yourself." George conveyed this to her with air of someone who did not quite agree but could see the benefit of the idea.

Rose cursed Anna's cruelty to the deepest pits of hell.

"I don't want to get married," said Rose, decidedly bold today. It was risky to defy her benefactor, but this was going too far.

"I will not have you remain as a spinster in my home!" replied George, scowling at her. "What I am offering you is far better than the alternative. I could have turned you away to return to whatever hole you escaped from. Instead I took you into my home, fed, clothed, and educated you for two years, and now it is time for you to do your womanly duty and join yourself to a man to start a family. You will not embarrass this family!"

_You're the embarrassing one! _Rose wanted to scream at him. She was already shy of George since first meeting him, but now she felt the threat in his mannerism. He fully intended to go through with this plan. His daughter presented the opportunity to use Rose's situation to his benefit and he was taking it.

"Of course, given your lack of fortune, you can expect the match to be one of lower stature. Perhaps to a coachman or a shopkeeper. We will be endeavoring to find you a safe match nearby to placate my wife," he went on, heartlessly.

"For only that reason, sir?" Rose asked coldly.

George met her gaze levelly. "It is only for the sake of Mrs. Allen that you are here at all. If I had my way, you would have been left on that road to continue on with your life of degradation."

George had always believed Rose was some sort of prostitute taking advantage of him and his family. He had rarely spoken to her since she had arrived at their home and it seemed his distaste for her had not faded in that time.

"You may return to your day, Miss Smith," finished George, dismissively. He put on his glasses and went back to his papers, deliberately making Rose's presence unwelcome. She stared at him in shock for a moment longer before rising.

Rose didn't know how she made it out of George's study and into her room on the second floor, but upon arrival, she collapsed against the door. In a puddle on the floor, she allowed the fear and anger to sweep through her, heating her previously numb limbs.

She gave a short cry, grabbing her bonnet from her hair and launching it across the room. How on Earth had she gotten herself into such a mess?

* * *

_August, 1870._

_Manhattan, New York._

Rose shook herself away from the memory.

_Marriage? _That sounded like just about the worst idea George could have possibly had. It had been months and Rose still couldn't wrap her mind around it. In what possible way was marriage a solution to ending up stranded in the middle of nowhere? She wasn't even sure it entirely allowed for a man of no relation to make a decision such as that one for her. She knew women were considered the property of men in this time, but how could he claim the right over a woman who he isn't related to?

Rose confessed her fears to Laura, tweaking her words to suit the story she had built here. She claimed to be afraid of building a family when she couldn't remember if she already had one. What if she were married off and then her family found her again? The understanding angel she was, Laura reassured her that it would be at least a year before George acted on these intentions, giving her plenty of time to redouble her efforts to find her way home.

A plan Rose fully intended to pursue. There were many reasons Rose was so grateful to have Margo's favor. The chance to escape Orange County was a strong contender. Manhattan, however, was the most important part. In such a major city, Rose was given the chance to be on the look out for strange happenings that she thought might attract the Doctor. And since that was such a narrow chance, she also took the time to study the costs, time, and feasibility of riding a ship to England. Of course, she could run off within the states but since part of her plan included stealing from the Allens, she didn't want to risk them being able to catch her.

It was convenient for her that the house Margo went to with Mrs. Davis was near the docks. Earlier that day, when she left her companions, she stole away to the docks to see if there were any lower costs than the last time she had been there. It was the same, to her frustration.

Rose had been stowing away bits of money each time she was given an allowance by Laura to make purchases. In two months, she had managed to scrape together only ten dollars total. She could manage a ticket on a sailing ship at this rate, but not a steam ship. It would take more time to be able to do what she desired.

The impatience she felt was oppressive. She was desperate to escape this nightmare. The worst part was the immediate sense that would be committing betrayal by marrying some man in the 19th century. A betrayal of the love Rose held for the Doctor. A marriage to some random human man would feel like surrender to her circumstance. She had fought so long to find a way back to her Doctor and the TARDIS, was she really to give up now to suite the fancy of an old grouch?

Rose was lost in her thoughts as she walked, ignoring the people she passed. She realized she was nearing Hell's Kitchen by the smell alone. Her nose wrinkled, and she repressed the urge to gag. She had grown up on the Estates in London, but the disregard for sanitation in the 19th century made the slums seem far worse than anything she had encountered.

She turned abruptly before she could truly enter the neighborhood, deciding to head north for a bit. She tried to renew her determination to not dwell on missing the Doctor. It was a fact of her life, and she was working on fixing it, but it would not do to harp on it.

"Rose?" A voice said from behind her. She wouldn't turn. She had conditioned herself not to respond to that word anymore. "Rose!"

That voice again. Why did it feel like she knew that voice? Regardless, she kept her eyes fixed on the signs above the shops across the road, pretending she was looking for one.  
"Rose Tyler!"

This time, she stopped. In fact, everything did. It felt like a scene out of a movie. A dramatic pause; the breath stolen from her lungs.

It was her full name. And that voice - that was a voice she hadn't heard in five years. She could feel the basket on her arm drop loosely to her fingers as her arms went slack.

Her name was repeated. It felt like a command to breathe again, so she did.

She spun on her heel. Standing mere meters away from her was surely a ghost. His long coat struck a stark contrast to the style of the times and he must have picked up the rest of his outfit along the way. He was as handsome as the last day she saw him.

_Not the Doctor, _a voice said to her. She stomped it down viciously and allowed the pure joy of this chance encounter sweep through her.

Rose said his name like a prayer.

"Captain Jack Harkness."


	4. Iris, Snow-Drop, Anemone

_August, 1870._

_Manhattan, New York._

There was a moment's pause. Then her basket landed on the ground, there were two arms wrapped firmly around her middle, and she was being spun in circles. Colors blurred around Rose and joy swelled all throughout her.

When he put her down, they remained clutching at each other like the other might disappear if they let go. Everyone around them could be staring at them, but it didn't matter.

"It's been so long -"

"_Years! _I've missed -"

They were talking over each other and when they realized it, they stopped and fell into breathless laughter.

"I can't believe you're here!" exclaimed Jack. "Where's the Doctor?"

Rose felt her heart break all over again and he looked in the areas around them for any sign of the man in question. Her grin fell.

"He isn't here, Jack," she said quietly. His look of shock and confusion didn't make her feel any better. Breathless, she said, "I don't know where to start. Isn't that awful?"

Rose felt faint and Jack must have noticed because he grabbed her basket and held out his elbow.

"Will you accompany me to a pub, Miss Tyler?"

"It would be my pleasure, Captain." She brightened and gave him the best grin she could muster, hooking her arm through his. Then, because she couldn't resist, she added: "Oh, and that's _Dame _Tyler, if you please!"

Jack's eyebrows arched. "_Dame? _Well, we certainly have a lot to talk about."

Rose's grin became fixed, her heart heavy. "Yeah, we sure do."

They walked for a few moments in silence. She wasn't sure where they would go. Rose didn't frequent the taverns in Manhattan, as that would bring unwanted attention to herself - given the era.

"This weather is unbearable!" remarked Jack, using his free hand to wipe sweat from his forehead.

Rose recognized the small talk for what it was: a distraction. She hummed in agreement, trying to keep her thoughts from running too fast.

"You think it's bad for you? Imagine all the layers under this dress."

Jack gave her a salacious grin. "Oh, I'm definitely imagining what's under that dress!"

"Jack!" exclaimed Rose, giggling. It had been some time she had been flirted with; no one does flirting like Jack Harkness. It took her a second, but she slipped back into her old persona. "Maybe if you're lucky, I'll show you."

He gave her a wink, saying, "This day keeps getting better and better!"

"I know the element of surprise is important for a date, but where are we going?" Rose asked teasingly as Jack led her confidently through the streets.

"Right up here," he said, pointing to a corner tavern that was not a complete dive, but not too respectable either. "I've been through a few of the places around here and this is probably our safest bet."

He led her in and told her to take a table near the back.

Jack brought some Madeira from the barkeep near the front of the tavern, weaving through the mostly male crowd to her. Rose tried not to look around too much, wanting to remain unaware of any attention on them. When he sat across from her, any words she wanted to say seemed to be gone entirely.

They stared at each other for a few moments, soaking in the cacophony of voices throughout the room.

Finally, Rose blurted, "It's been five years since I've seen you, Jack."

Jack blinked. "Five years."

What can someone even say to a thing like that?

"I thought you were dead." Rose swallowed. She wrapped her hands around the cup in front of her. Looking back up at him, she wanted to explain what she was feeling. "It's funny how you can spend your time imagining what it'd be like to see your family and friends again. The things you'd say - the things you'd do. But what happens when you find someone again? It's one thing to know something, but it's something else to say it out loud."

"I know exactly what you mean." Jack replied, nodding gently. He leaned forward and asked, "What happened, Rose? Why are you here? Where is the Doctor?"

Rose fidgeted as she tried to figure out where to start. So many big changes had happened in only five years. The last time she saw him, she decided. That would be best.

"After you ran off to face the Daleks, the Doctor tricked me into the TARDIS. He had an emergency programme in place to send me home if he decided the danger we were in was too big," Rose explained. She felt herself become bitter at the thought of the Doctor sending her away. Time and time again, he underestimated her. Look where it got them.

"I didn't know he could do that," remarked Jack. "So, what, got the steering wrong again? Meant to send you to 2006 and ended up sending you to, what 1865? Had the TARDIS come back for him and never checked to see where you ended up?"

Rose shook her head. She was surprised as the restrained anger in his voice and wanted to question it but supposed that would come later.

"He got the steering right. No, he fully intended to die on that station. But, lucky for him, I didn't take too well to being left behind." They shared a smirk at that. Then, Rose got serious, "I did something incredibly dangerous."

"What did you do?"

Rose took a sip of the Madeira, finding no relief in the dry taste. She stared into the wine and heard herself speak in a distant way. "I killed them, Jack. I killed all of the Daleks."

"How?"

She wet her lips. "'Member Margaret in Cardiff?"

"The Slitheen? How could I forget? God, those were good days!" chuckled Jack, eyes misty at remembering the times they were all together.

"They really were," said Rose, smiling gently. "Well, I kind of did what the Doctor did to her -"

"Opened up the heart of the TARDIS?"

"Yeah, but, to myself."

Jack's face was colored with shock. "What?! You looked into the - how are you alive?"

"How are _you?" _Rose countered. "You went off to face down Daleks. I didn't come back in time to save you."

"Last thing I remember is facing down three Daleks - death by extermination. And then I woke up and there were piles of dust where the Daleks were. I heard the TARDIS and I ran, Rose, I mean, I _ran _to get back to you all. But the TARDIS faded right in front of me."

There was that anger again. He thought he had been left behind. That was an anger Rose could understand. After all, hadn't she felt the same way at times when she was trapped in Pete's World? But this was different.

"He couldn't have known." Rose said, insistent. Jack didn't look convinced. She rambled on, "Jack, there is no way the Doctor up n' left you there. He was dying and it- it was just so confusing!"

Jack calmed by a little. "He regenerated?"

"Ye - wait, how did you know about that? He told you?!" Rose was offended that the Doctor might have told Jack and not her. After all, they had been traveling together for months before Jack joined them.

"No, no, I knew about that from my stint with the Time Agency. The Time Lords were responsible for the creation of the agency at some point, so we knew a little bit about them. Of course, they were a myth by my time." He was quick to reassure her. "What was it like?"

She thought back on that day, watching the man she loved disappeared in front of her eyes, replaced by a pretty boy. It turned out that he was still the same man, but at the time...

"Horrifying. I woke up on the TARDIS and there he was, telling me he was going to die. I didn't understand what was happening and then he exploded into this - this golden light? It's hard to describe. And then there was a new man standing in his place."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't going right. He started rambling about Barcelona and all these other things, going mad. I thought he was going to kill us the way he was going on," she said, shaking her head at the absurdity of that day. "Barely manages to get us back to my time, comes out the TARDIS, and collapses! Right in front of my Mum and Mickey."

Jack's eyebrows went up. "The regeneration went wrong?"

She nodded. "Yeah, then he's half dead for the rest of the day, leaving me to explain to everyone why he's gone and changed his face, _and _to deal with Sycorax invasion -"

"The _what?" _Jack interrupted.

Rose explained how to the Sycorax used blood control to get the attention of Earth, trying to take control of the planet. She told him of her embarrassing attempt to stand in for the Doctor before he finally got his act together and swooped in to save the day.

"For a Time Lord, he's not all that great at timing," joked Jack, somewhat tensely. He sipped from the wine and looked away for a moment before commenting quickly, "So, I guess with all that going on, you didn't have time to wonder what happened to me?"

Rose read the hurt Jack carried clear as day. He thought they moved on from him without caring.

"He told me you were rebuilding the Earth and I thought - I thought he just didn't want to tell me the truth. That you were dead." She looked away from him, lost in the memories of holing up in her room away from the Doctor from time to time to grieve for a friend she wasn't sure was alive anymore. "I mourned for you, after the craziness of the invasion died down."

Jack's hurt disappeared in the face of her admission. He leaned forward and grabbed her hand, getting her to look back at him. She wanted to soak in the view. Here was a member of her family, with her, for the first time in a long time.

"Hey, look, I'm here, still alive. Can't get rid of me that easy!" He switched gears suddenly. "You skipped the most important part though."

Her eyebrows drew together. "What's that?"

He wore a shit-eating grin. "What did he look like? Was he as gorgeous as before? Spare no detail, Rosie!"

Rose laughed and remembered wistfully how different her new Doctor looked. She missed his old face and mannerisms. His new body and personality still managed to impress her though.

"He's definitely still gorgeous - in a different way though! He's tall, thin - _phenomenal hair! _Wait until you see it!"

"Did you two get around to, well -" Jack waggled his eyebrows, suggestion heavy in his tone.

Rose blushed. "Not exactly."

Jack groaned, shaking his head. "Dammit, after all that work I was putting in?"

She laughed, remembering all the ways Jack would tease the Doctor and try to make him jealous to get him to act on his 'undying love' for her, as he put it.

Sarah Jane and the adventure with the Krillitanes flashed through her mind. Before then, she thought they were building up to _something_. It was stupid of her to think she was the only one the Doctor had ever travelled with. The fear that he would one day leave her behind, like he did with Sarah Jane, and never even _mention _her again was unthinkable.

If he didn't reciprocate her feelings for him, that was one thing. The rejection stung and she nursed that hurt for a while. If he left her and never thought about her again? Well, that went beyond being a spurned lover.

"The regeneration slowed that progress down a bit. We came close so many times, but some changes made things...tense."

She was evasive and vague. She knew Jack could tell.

"I one hundred percent want to hear more about that later, but first, you still haven't explained how you got here."

Back on track, "Right. So. I was with him for about a year after all that, until we came to visit my Mum one day and were thrown right into an invasion by the Daleks and the Cybermen."

"Together? Since when do either species work with others?" Then, confused, he said, "Wait, I thought you killed the Daleks."

_Daleks never die dead enough_, she thought. It was a hateful thought, but those creatures had haunted the Doctor for his entire life and took everything away from her.

"So did we, Emperor and all. But these ones were from the Time War. they escaped somehow and managed to make a void ship of thousands of other Daleks that were prisoners of the war onto Earth."

"A void ship?"

"So y'know how there are multiple universes all stacked up alongside each other?" At Jack's nod, she continued, "Well, the void is the space in between. It's like hell. Nothing truly lives within it. A void ship was a prison made by the Time Lords - bigger on the inside. It was supposed to kill the Daleks, pretty much. But then this organization, Torchwood, started messing with things they shouldn't and poked a hole into the void and pop! In comes the void ship. And with that hole there, the Cybermen were able to bleed through from their universe to ours."

Disbelief and awe merged on Jack. Voice strained, he said, "You were facing two of the deadliest species in existence."

"By the thousands!" she exclaimed. It was incredible, looking back on it, that they had survived at all. It came at a great cost to her, though. "So, then the Doctor comes up with a brilliant plan. See, anyone who goes through the void picks up on 'void stuff.' Open up the void and anything with that stuff gets sucked right in!"

Rose paused. She had never had life easy. Growing up on the Estates was a difficult childhood to have and she went on to make some massive mistakes in her teenage years that left her feeling like she didn't have a future. Before she met the Doctor, she had been in fights, been arrested, dropped out of school, spent a night in a shelter - all sorts of things that could qualify as the worst day of her life. And even after she met him, there were so many occasions that left her beat down and feeling like there was no hope in sight. But that day, in that room, was the worst day of her life.

"That's where our problem was though. Because we were also covered in void stuff. Me, the Doctor, Mickey, my Dad from the other universe. Moment we opened that void, we were going to get sucked in too." Rose blinked back tears, swallowing hard. And to think she promised she was done crying about this. "Easy enough decision, I guess. Everyone with the void stuff, plus my Mum, uses the dimension cannons - what they used to follow the Cybermen into our universe - goes over to the other universe while the Doctor opens the void on this side."

Jack pointed out a flaw in the plan. "Wouldn't he get sucked in too?"

"He had some magnaclamps."

He nodded slowly. "Okay, so I'm not seeing how that puts you here."

"Thing was, once the void closed again, it was closed for good. There was no way to travel between the universes."

"You didn't want to do that."

"Of course not. I tried to stay with the Doctor. Sent my family to the other universe and clung to a magnaclamp best I could. Unfortunately, the best I had wasn't enough."

The memory of that cold, white room plague her dreams to this day. Any room like it made her feel claustrophobic.

Shaking off the dark thought, Rose saw Jack's horror at the idea of her falling into the void. It almost made her smile.

"But -"

She stopped him before he could get worked up. "Pete came back with the cannon last second. Right before I woulda fell into the void, he appeared and took me to his universe."

"Separating you from the Doctor." Jack sat back, visibly shocked and almost distraught. Then, he shook his head, eyebrows together and waved a hand in her direction. "But this is the proper universe. You're back."

"I was in the other universe for two years. I was working for their version of Torchwood when we got a call about heavy temporal readings. My team answered the call. It seemed like nothing was there. I ordered them to do a perimeter sweep while I did a walk through." Rose smiled when Jack looked impressed. "There were there stone statues all over the place and I didn't think anything of it until I looked away from them and they moved."

"They didn't move until you looked away? That sounds familiar."

Rose nodded. "I knew then that were dangerous. Watched them make someone disappear right in front of me. I tried to keep my eyes on them, but there were too many. I radioed my team and told them to destroy the place."

"With you still in it." Jack's voice sounded as hollow as she felt.

"Yes. My life versus millions?" She shook her head. "It wasn't even a question. I thought I was going to die. Imagine that, spending all that time trying to find my way back home and I was going to die in a different world. But I didn't. Instead, I woke up in 1868 New York."

"I got here in 1868, too," Jack interrupted. "There has to be a link."

"Maybe." Rose shrugged. "A family, the Allens, found me and took me in. I pretended to have memory loss as my cover, and I've been with them since then."

He looked like there was a lot he wanted to say. When he spoke, he said only, "Been enjoying the 1800s?"

"I fucking hate it!" spat Rose, visibly surprising Jack with her vehemence. Sighing, she began explaining to him the Allens family and her recent dilemma of George Allen's attempts to get rid of her via a 'proper arrangement.'

"It's been three months. I haven't heard anything else about it," Rose said as she finished the story.

Jack was frowning. "I don't like that, sweetheart. I don't know how he has the right to force you into that."

"I don't know either. But he works with the law. I think he has ways of making things happen." Rose huffed. In times past, in a situation like this, there would be a jail break or some sort of dramatic escape at the Doctor's hand. "Obviously, I haven't been sitting around waiting for the axe to fall. I've been trying to figure out a way back to England. Every time I come to Manhattan, I go and look at the fares to get a spot-on ship to London."

It wasn't too bad of a plan, if Rose said so herself. The difficulty lies with making sure she had enough money to survive. In her time, this would be no problem. But here? Where cholera and the like were still rampant? No thanks.

"Come with me. I'm trying to find a way back to the Doctor too. Come with me and we can work together to get back home."

"You don't have to convince me!" Rose laughed. She realized she had been nervous the whole time that Jack wouldn't help her. How silly of her. He was just as relieved to find her as she was him.

"You can come back to the place I've been renting, and we can work on getting to England -"

"Wait, Jack." Rose cut him off. The guilt that had been plaguing her for years swelled once more. "I think I owe it to the Allens to tell them I'm leaving."

If it was only George and his awful eldest children, she would walk away without looking back. Laura, Margo, and the staff were a different story. They had treated her with every kindness. Food, shelter, clothing, and some good memories came out of all her times with these sweet people in two years. All for someone who was lying to them. How could she walk away without telling them their kindness was not for naught?

"They're trying to force you to marry someone and you want to give them a proper goodbye?" Jack was incredulous.

"I don't care about George or the eldest children, but Laura and a lot of the staff have done right by me, even though I've been lying right to their faces for years. Least I can do, I think, is say goodbye." Rose pleaded. "Please."

Jack sighed, running a hand over his face. "We're going to need a story."

"Why?"

"You can't come home and say, 'Hey, guys, met an old pal in the city and we're running off together!'" Rose blushed. "My bet is that this George character won't take too kindly to have you spurn his generosity after two years of letting you stay with his family."

"So, what do we do?"

"If you're set on saying goodbye to them, I'd say we use your cover story. Say you got some memories back. I can be your brother." He suggested, amused at the thought of it.

Rose's eyebrows rose. "You don't look anything like me."

"Doesn't matter." She remained doubtful. "No, really, it doesn't matter. It's simple to trick people before the twenty-first century. What did you tell them your name was?"

"Marion Smith."

Despite her misgivings, she felt herself growing excited.

"Then I'm James Smith. We stumbled across each other in the city - which is true - and you magically remembered your family. Let's say, recent immigrants to the states, our parents passed on the journey, and you went missing one night while we were traveling north. 'I've been looking _everywhere _for you!'" Jack finished with a dramatic sniffle.

Rose added, "You thank them for taking care of me -"

"And then we get the hell out of here." Jack threw a thumb over his shoulder, grinning widely.

Rose nodded. This could work. It would discredit George's ability to force her to marry. With Jack as her brother, technically he would be the only one with the right to do that to her. Which he would never do. Not that George needed to know that.

Sometimes, she couldn't believe her life. She said to Jack, "Do you ever feel like your life is a series of unnecessary hurdles? 'Cause that's how I've been feeling for the past four years."

Jack smiled, suddenly looking older in that moment. "I understand that. You can't let it get to you though. Everyone has their trials, but I think some of us are destined for great things and, with those great things, comes a lot of hard work."

"Check you out, Jack, you're getting wise in your old age," she teased, touching her tongue to her teeth.

"Getting left behind for dead will do that for you," he chuckled without humor.

Rose sobered. She grasped his hand. "I'm so sorry, Jack."

"Did you send me here?"

That stopped her short. "What?"

"Did you, Rose Tyler, send me here?" he repeated, without accusation.

She shook her head. "No."

He squeezed her hand, eyes gentle. "Then don't apologize. It wasn't your fault. None of it."

Though it would do nothing to take it back, Rose felt compelled to explain the actions of herself and the Doctor again. "I should've pushed harder with the Doctor. He didn't want to talk about Satellite Five. Hell, I didn't even remember what I did to the Daleks until a year after then."

Jack stopped her. "Rosie, that's between me and him. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. First we gotta find him."

Rose nodded again, this time in resignation. She glanced around the tavern; not sure how much time had passed since they arrived. It had been at least an hour. "I should be getting back. Margo will be heading back to Orange County soon. Are you going to come with me?"

"I should clean myself up first, make myself believable. Where do they live?" asked Jack.

She rattled off the address to him. Despite how anxious it made her feel, she agreed that he should clean up. Monied people were particular about that sort of thing. They needed to make the Allens believe that letting her go was not only proper, but the best thing for her.

"I need to get transport up there. A horse, maybe a cart too. Some effects to make the story seem real."

"Alright. When should I tell them to expect you?"

"Two days? I'd manage it sooner, but my resources are limited." Jack grimaced. Rose could understand that. Everything was difficult and slow in this time period. Money was hard to come by and it only got you so far.

"Works for me. I'll be ready for you."

He shot her a lascivious wink. "Oh, I'm sure you will be!"

"Down boy!" chided Rose, laughing. Then something hit her, bringing fears back to the table. "Wait! What about your accent? You sound American."

Jack cleared his voice and said, "I can sound just like you with no problem, sweetheart."

Her jaw dropped when his accent matched that of a Londoner. That was impressive, to say the least.

"We have so much to talk about," said Rose, almost like a threat. He only grinned back at her.

Rose hesitated to get up from the table. She was reluctant to leave him. It could all be a dream. He could fade away the moment she left and then where would she be? Alone. Again.

"Go ahead, Rose. I'll be there before you know it," he said, gently, grasping her hand once more. He knew. Of course, he knew. He likely felt the same.

She took a deep breath, nodding. She could do this. Two more days and then this part of her life would be over.

Rose swept out of the tavern, a grin growing on her face. She didn't even care that the other patrons were staring at her from the corners of their eyes. This was the best day she had in ages.

An hour or so later, in a carriage with Margo and Mrs. Davis, Rose felt a giddiness she hadn't experienced in years. She paid Margo only half an ear as she rattled on about her day and replayed her day again and again.

No, she wasn't home yet.

No, the Doctor hadn't found her.

Jack had. Everything was looking up. They were going to go home.


	5. Kindness Begets Ruined Plans

_August, 1870._

_Orange County, New York._

It was late that evening when Rose found herself battling anxiety as she helped prepare the dining room for supper. Every nerve in her body pulsed with the need to run. If she thought she had been impatient before, she was drowning in it now. More than once, since the moment she stepped into the carriage that afternoon, she found herself wishing she had left with Jack the moment they found each other.

However, she made her bed. It was time to lie in it.

Not one of them made small talk while preparing the dining room. Typically, it would be Mr. John overseeing the place setting of the dining room. Tonight, however, he entrusted the ladies to take care of that whilst he attended to a task given to him by George.

It was typical of them, on nights like this, to work in silence if George was near. Mrs. Peterson issued the same warning to all the staff when they first came on. There had never been an incident as far as Rose had seen, but the threat loomed clear.

Rose and Emma shared a cringe when Liz dropped silverware on the table, the clatter breaking the peace. She could see Mrs. Peterson tense out of the corner of her eye as they collectively held their breath. Absurdly, Rose wanted to laugh. Here she was, after years of running across dangerous planets and fighting in battles, allowing herself to fear one measly human man.

The moment passed and they heard nothing from the sitting room.

When the last of the wares were set out and the candles lit, Emma and Liz left through a door at the end of the dining room while Mrs. Peterson opened the ones into the sitting room to signal to the Allens that everything was set. Rose waited by the table until Mrs. Peterson walked past her. She could feel her own heartbeat in her throat and turned when the Allens filtered into the room.

Rose made to follow Mrs. Peterson, under the guise of going to help retrieve dinner. She was stopped before she made it halfway.

"Please sit, Marion," said Laura, smile stretching tight. She gestured to the seat across from Margo's chair.

It would be better to start sowing her story here at dinner, but she wavered under the gaze of George Allen. Suddenly, the idea of waiting until Laura was alone appealed greatly to her.

Since when had she been so easily cowed?

"I thought I might take supper with Mrs. Peterson this evening," said Rose, trying in vain to conceal her nerves.

"Please," repeated Laura.

Here, Rose made the mistake of glancing at George at the head of the table. His flinty eyes glinted at her over folded hands. She swallowed hard.

Nodding in what she hoped was a dignified manner, Rose pulled out the chair and sunk into it. It felt as uncomfortable as she did. Across the table, Margo waved cheerfully, and Rose tried to manage a smile in return.

As dinner was being served by Mrs. Peterson and the girls, Rose fidgeted in her seat. Dinner started off normally, with George barely feigning interest in his daughter as she rambled on about her day in the city. Laura was actively listening, giving small phrases of encouragement at the proper places. But something seemed off and it made Rose worry.

She picked at her food and tried to focus on the diaphragmatic breathing training she received from Torchwood to calm anxiety. Taking deep breaths, she kept her chest slow and steady while allowing her stomach to expand and contrast.

It almost worked when Laura turned the focus of conversation to her.

"A little bird told me a tale today, Marion."

"Oh?" The food she swallowed felt like sawdust in her throat.

Laura hummed, cutting up her meat. "From what they saw, you have a beau in the city."

_Bloody fucking hell! _Rose swore at herself. Of course, this would happen. Of course, some busybody would be listening in on her conversations. And, _of course, _they told the Allens. Years ago, she might have wondered how anyone could hear her specific conversation in a dingy tavern in a crowded city, but now? She knew the universe had it out for her.

Jack was right. They should have run right when they found each other.

Panicked, she tried not to meet anyone's eyes. It was difficult. She could see Margo's confusion, Laura's hurt, and George's cold satisfaction in less than a glance at each one. What in the world could she tell them?

"I got my memory back!" Rose blurted. Her internal monologue that was beating herself up punched harder when Laura's silverware clattered against the plate and Margo gasped. The room stilled.

Rose took a deep breath and worked slowly through an explanation. "My name really is Marion Smith and I come from London."

"I am glad that has been clarified," remarked George, seemingly unaffected by the revelation. Rose took another deep breath to keep herself from glaring at him.

"Weren't you going to tell us?" Laura looked wounded at the thought of Rose hiding this from her.

She swore internally and tried to smile. "I was going to tomorrow. I just - well, I thought today's already been such a long day. I wanted to gather myself."

Mr. John's eyes met hers while he was gathering plates to return to the kitchen. Rose couldn't tell what he was thinking about, but caution was clearly displayed in his gaze. She hoped her nervousness did not show as much as it felt like it did.

"My father – my father was killed," choked Rose. At this, she didn't have to fake her horror and grief. She did watch her father die once and nearly destroyed the universe trying to prevent it. Her relationship with the parallel Pete was not particularly loving, but he was still her father, and she lost him as well as her mother and brother when she ended up back in this universe.

"Oh, my dear child, you don't have to do this -" started Laura, looking regretful to broach the topic at dinner.

Rose interrupted. "I do. Now that I know it, you deserve the truth after all your kindness."

"Mr. John, please ask Mrs. Peterson to come retrieve Margaret. It is time for her to go to bed," said Laura quietly.

"Mother!" protested Margo, eyebrows drawn together.

George cut in, smooth and icy. "Now, child."

Margo looked ready to protest once more when George cut her a silencing look. Mr. John was at her side, prompting her softly to come with him. She gave Rose one last wobbly look before the butler removed her from the room.

"Go on, Miss Smith," said George when the door softly closed behind Mr. John.

"My father, Peter, and I had come to the United States after the death of my mother, Jacqueline. That was three years ago. When we arrived in the country, we decided to travel a bit before settling." She said this to squash any attempts to investigate her story. If they had never stopped moving, there wasn't a high chance of any record of them.

"I fail to see how this concerns your lover," said George coldly.

"He is no such thing," protested Rose immediately. She could feel her cheeks redden when he gave her a narrow glare. She needed to tread carefully. "He was – is my betrothed."

With that declaration, the room became still once more. It felt almost as though the room had gotten a draft, which would normally be a relief. At present, it seemed to make her nerves worse.

"I came across him in the city and suddenly remembered everything. James Harrison," said Rose, making up a new last name on the spot, "He and I became good friends quickly and before I knew it, my father had arranged a match for us. We were on our way to New York to get married and settled when we were attacked on the road."

Here Laura gasped. Rose appreciated how easily led the woman was in this moment. Part of her was sick with herself for taking advantage, but the other part, where she was desperate to escape this nightmare era, was in charge.

George was a tougher crowd. None of this emotional drivel would appeal to him. He was set on getting rid of her and probably would not like her getting a happier ending than he'd originally envisioned.

Wondering if she was thinking him too much of a mastermind, Rose continued. "My father was killed, James looked to be as well, and the bandits made off with me. Somehow I ended up in on that road that day where you found me."

"Somehow you only now remembered all of this?" asked George. Looking at him now, she felt as though it were that afternoon in May once more.

"Well, it's like that Doctor Robson said, any small thing could bring back my memories. Seeing James again – that must've done it."

"I am both so happy that you have regained your memory and terribly grieved at your reality, Marion." Laura said honestly, her hand on her heart, her empathy clear. "Do we have the happy chance of meeting this Mr. Harrison?"

Rose licked her lips. "Y-yes, he told me he wanted a day to prepare himself and that he would come begging an audience."

"You invited a stranger to my home?" inquired George, with a lack of anger that made Rose anxious all over again.

"I-I figured I had infringed upon your generosity for far too long, sir," she said, trying to appeal to his desire to get rid of her.

"Hm. We shall see if this young man is an appropriate choice for you, Miss Smith." At the surprised looks that both his wife and Rose gave him, he provided a shady explanation. "It has been years since you have seen him last. Who is to say that he is not trying to take advantage?"

"Please, sir, he is not! We were days from marrying when we were separated. He's a good man – a Christian man!" She pleaded, throwing their religion onto the table to appeal to their higher morals, if possible. The tears in her eyes were not wholly faked. "It is what my father wanted for me."

For a moment, George did nothing but consider her. Rose clenched a fist under the table, wishing for nothing more than for Jack to be there already. He would have talked their way out of this already, especially given his privilege as a man.

Rose felt like she was counting the literal seconds going by when George finally spoke again. "We shall see."

That was not quite what she was hoping for, but it was better than an outright refusal to meet Jack. Laura looked disappointed at the end of the table and was certainly set on making her opinion known to her husband before the night was out.

"Would it be alright if I retired early to my room?" asked Rose, putting more quiver to her voice. Sometimes the language of the time was difficult for her to remember, but in times like this, it helped remind them that she had suffered in some way.

After receiving a tender allowance from Laura and a stiff nod from George, Rose left the family in the dining room, trying not to look at their faces.

"You're leaving us?" came Mrs. Peterson's voice as Rose made her way to the stairs. She turned to the woman and couldn't get a read on her face, so she nodded reluctantly. Mrs. Peterson stepped closer, glancing towards the soft glow of the dining room doors at the end of the hall, her voice lowering, "It is awfully timely for you to have found your fiancé when Mr. Allen was so near to settling his debts."

_Debts… _Rose's eyes went wide when she caught the woman's meaning. With one sentence, Mrs. Peterson revealed more to her about George than anyone had. It was likely Anna had nothing to do with this after all. And it shouldn't surprise her as much as it did. The woman would have been ecstatic to see Rose reduced entirely to maid's work.

"Why -" _Why hadn't they told her sooner? _She wanted to ask.

But Mrs. Peterson held a finger to Rose's lips. Softly, she said, "Be careful, Marion."

She turned and left Rose in the shadows, shock coursing through her. A million thoughts were running through her mind. She forced her limbs to move, one by one, up the stairs.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," muttered Rose again and again after she closed her door. She paced the length of her room quickly, the colors of the walls and rug blurring in her eyes. They might have known she was lying the whole time. Did they know she was lying now? She hoped not.

_I should run, _Rose thought to herself. She nodded. That was the best course of action. She could head to Manhattan and find Jack. They could leave, find a different port city to leave from and lower the risk of running into the Allens ever again.

It hit her then. She had no idea where to find Jack in the city. She had never gotten an address from him. Even if she did, it would take a day of walking - nonstop - to make it to the city. She could ask around for Jack, but who knows what name he was using here?

Rose sunk onto the edge of her bed, her whole body shaking. She stared at the blackness beyond the window. He would get here two days from now and she had to find a way to tell him he was now her betrothed, not her brother.

She prayed to whatever was listening that they could pull this off.

* * *

_August, 1870._

_Orange County, New York._

Rose was awake early on the day Jack was set to arrive. Before the sun had risen, she was dressed, hair pulled into a neat style, and clothes from Pete's World tucked neatly into a knapsack. Perched on a small chair by the window, she watched dawn break through the trees.

She had spent the previous day avoiding the family. She knew both Margo and Laura had sought her company throughout the day. It might have been harsh but her affection for them was exactly why she was in this situation. She thought it was perfectly alright to distance herself for a day.

Besides, she had a mission. She had to figure out how to convey the change in plans to Jack. Though they were hesitant to talk about it, she managed to get some help from Mrs. Peterson, Mr. John, and Mr. Reading. She confessed to them her fears that George would turn Jack away and she would be forced to wed a man she had never met. The family debts were not her responsibility, regardless of the aid they had provided her over the years.

With their help, she composed a short letter to Jack, giving him the few details that her friends were willing to spare about George's predicament.

_J,_

_ I have confessed to George Allen that you are my betrothed. In doing so, I have discovered his true intent to marry me was to absolve some of his son's gambling debts. Prepare yourself._

_ Destroy this._

_ R._

If they thought anything of the use of a different initial, they said nothing of it. Mr. John offered to pass the note to Jack upon arrival on the property, as he would be the one to direct him to the stables. Rose thanked him profusely.

Whatever the reason for their help, she was grateful for it. She would not ask for the why, just as she would not ask why they had never told her in the first place what was going on in this family. After a night of consideration, she could see that they were in a tough spot with the Allens. Any of them could lose their job at any given moment. And no matter the era, being on the lowest rungs of society was perilous. She could relate to keeping mouths shut to stay good with the boss.

For the rest of they day, she spent the time she had with the staff. She soaked up their authentic normality. Who had time for regained memories and marriage drama when there was work to be done and gossip to be spread? It was a way of living that she was familiar with and deeply appreciated.

But now the day had come. Jack was coming and today could end on a positive or rather negative note. There were many possibilities to consider. George could accept the story that she and Jack presented, allowing them on their way. Or he could dismiss it, leaving Rose to find a way to run. It was a risky path, if it went that way.

Before long, it was time to emerge from her bedroom and busy herself while waiting for Jack to arrive. The earliest he could arrive was by noon. It was a long five hours between now and then. It would be a detriment to sit around waiting and wondering.

When the house awoke, Rose threw herself into daily tasks of maintaining the house. Any attempt she gave at normality seemed pathetic. She fumbled with tasks that she normally completed swiftly, without issue. It wasn't long before Mrs. Peterson told her to get out of their way.

Only three hours in and she found herself wandering aimlessly around the grounds, forbidden from 'helping' any further. She spent the morning visiting the spots she used to hide from others, to have private moments to herself to mourn the life she had lost. A tree hollow she often leaned into, a lake she would walk in, a meadow she would lie in. Each location was enjoyable for only a moment before she would want to keep moving.

Eventually, when she found herself back in the Allen home, she sat on the veranda and watched the road to the house. There weren't many carriages travelling past the home. Each one that did sent Rose's heart rate through the roof as she told herself to calm down already.

And then finally. Finally, a simple horse and buggy began to pull up to the house. From far away, Rose knew instantly it was him. It helped than it was a phaeton, a stylish coach that suggested wealth and was used only by those who drove themselves. It wasn't a typical sort of buggy to see on the roads up in these parts.

Rose stood at first when she saw him coming and then convinced herself to sit when she realized it would be foolish to stand for up to a half hour waiting for him to get settled enough to come to the house.

Mr. John went to direct Jack where to go and Rose looked on anxiously. Jack nodded along to what the butler told him, directly his horses to the stables to hand off to the stable boy. While he did so, Mr. John came back to the house to inform the Allens of their visitor.

It wasn't typical, but George and Laura had already come to foyer to wait for the announcement of Rose's mysterious beau. She could see their lingering shadows beyond the door and tried to ignore them.

As he passed, Mr. John tried to give her a reassuring look.

"One Mr. Harrison is here to call upon Mr. Allen regarding Miss Smith," he said, once in the foyer.

They exited the house to stand on the veranda with her, watching the approach of Jack. He was well dressed. Not overly so, as would suggest a higher class, but well so for a lower middle-income suggestion. He looked handsome and put together, not at all what George might expect of the lover of a vagrant like Rose.

Being the vagrant she was, she submitted to the temptation to flip off standards of time.

"James!" exclaimed Rose, having practiced keeping his new name in her mind. She rushed forward to greet him, barely remembering to keep herself from throwing herself into his arms. Instead, she thrust forward her hand. He chuckled and took the chance to kiss her knuckles, bowing before her.

She searched his gaze for any acknowledgement of having read her letter. He met her look evenly, not breaking his smile once. He nodded and she understood then. That was his acknowledgement. He was far better than her at these sorts of things. It calmed her that he knew what he was doing.

"You must be Mr. Allen," said Jack with a toothy smile and an edge to his words that only Rose seemed to pick up on. Maybe she was imagining it. She watched as Jack strode past her and confidently held out a hand to George to shake.

The social significance of the move was not lost on her. Here was a man of a lower class asserting his worth to a respected man of law. He was making a statement. She knew then that he had undoubtedly understood her note and was making the best play for her hand.

"And you must be Mrs. Allen," continued Jack, bowing his head and brushing his lips over her offered hand. Laura smiled prettily, clearly already infatuated with the image presented to her.

It was impossible to read how George felt. Rose suspected the worst.

If Jack felt any tension, it didn't show. Instead, after greeting the heads of the Allen family, he went straight to the point.

"I am here to discuss with you the wellbeing on one Miss Marion Smith, who has long been the object of my affection and long lost to me," he stated, evenly meeting George's gaze.

George took a moment to assess Jack, looking over him like one might a proposal for legislature. Always slow to make a move, he finally said, "Yes, we were told you would be coming to do so. If you would be so kind, let us adjourn in my study to speak on the matter."

_What an impossibly short exchange, _Rose thought as the breath she'd been holding escaped her. She looked to Laura for direction and the kindly woman graced her with a smile that seemed to spell understanding.

The two men disappeared into the house to, she imagined, meet in George's office. Meanwhile, Rose clutched Laura's hand and followed her into the sitting room, ignoring the questioning gazes of the household staff.

"I will admit, he is quite the handsome gentleman," gushed Laura as they settled into the room to wait for the men to finish speaking. Rose blushed and laughed lightly in response, all while trying to keep herself from pulling her hair out. This was a test to the strength of her patience, and she wasn't exactly sure what would win out.

She was perched on the edge of the very sofa she had woken up on all those years ago, paying little attention to Laura's attempts at conversation. She tried to occupy herself with observing the room and when tired of that, she attempted some sewing. Her patience for her lack of skill was nonexistent today, so she soon gave that up for taking turns around the room. She fluctuated between sitting and standing, and, most importantly, trying not to look at the clock or the entryway to the sitting room.

When, after an hour, Jack emerged from the study, Rose felt sick with anticipation. She stood at the sight of him, smiling like a man who had won the lottery. Everything had gone well then -

"Good news, sweetheart! We're going to be married today!" announced Jack with a jovial grin.

Rose's heart felt like it dropped out of her body. She stared at him in astonishment. That was not _at all_ what she thought he was going to say. She sat back down.

"How- How is that possible? Do we not have to get a marriage license?"

"I thought we might have to wait for a little while, wait to get home. But lucky for us, Mr. Allen here can get all the paperwork together in no time. There's a minister down the road that can see to the actual wedding." At no point did his words bring her relief. Concern settled onto his face and his eyes were telling her to play along. He stepped closer to her, placing a hand on top of hers. "Aren't you happy with the news?"

"Of course! It's just a lot to take in all at once, dear," said Rose in what she hoped was a convincing manner. She twisted her hand to grab his, sure he could feel her bewilderment in her firm grasp. "Everything is happening so fast."

Laura came to sit at Rose's side, grasping her free hand. She wore sweet joy on her face. It was a good look for her.

"This is wonderful, Marion! I will do my best to make it an amazing wedding, given the circumstances!"

A part of Rose's heart broke at her charity. She hoped to convey the affection she bore her through a smile. "Don't trouble yourself too much, Laura. It is enough for me to have your support through this happy occasion."

That was the right thing to say, judging by the warmth on Laura's face. Her education, it seemed, was paying off.

Jack took a seat in a nearby armchair, looking every bit the relaxed, happy man who had finally gotten the woman of his dreams. "Mr. Allen said everything should be together by dinnertime."

"Then we can go?"

"So soon? Stay the night at least!"

Rose cursed at the universe when she heard Margo enter the room. She had thought Mrs. Davis had been entertaining the child. One glance at the woman told her she couldn't coral the girl.

Margo came into the room and kneeled before Rose, clutching at her skirts.

"Please, Marion! Don't leave yet!" pleaded Margo, her sweet eyes turned on Rose. Her heart melted at the sight and she hated herself for it.

She gave Jack an apologetic look, which he returned with an easy smile. Regardless of the time that had passed, it seemed he still knew her well.

"Of course, we'll stay. The ride to the city is too long to be taken at a late time such as that," he provided simply. What the Allens didn't know, of course, is that the two of them could easily handle themselves on the road at night. What they weren't good at handling, apparently, was 19th century domestics.

Rose plastered a smile on her face and tried not to think of all the ways they could make a run for it.

* * *

_August, 1870._

_Orange County, New York._

"I think he knew we were going to make a run for it if we 'waited to get home,'" remarked Rose once they entered the room that was provided for them to stay overnight.

"That and you did an _awful _job of lying earlier." Jack said, laughing at her. She could feel herself turn bright red. "I can't believe you pulled off faking memory loss for two years after that performance today."

"Shut up!" she cried, smacking his arm. She didn't admit to him that she might not have pulled it off as well as they thought. In sync, they flopped onto their backs on the bed, side by side.

The ceremony had been simple and quick. True to her word, Laura had put something together to try to make it special, with the help of the staff. There were pretty wildflowers from the garden and a strawberry dessert they knew she favored. It was blessed attempt from them to make this day feel special for her. She was tempted to them it was all a farce. But then, where would she be?

"Funny, we've had to do stuff like this before, but by this point, we'd already be in the TARDIS, off to the next place," joked Rose in an attempt at pretending the whole situation was normal.

"Like we did after Kyoto," offered Jack in remembrance, grinning at her. She grinned back, reflecting on their times racing from one place to the next in the few months the three of them had traveled together.

"How much did you have to pay him to get him to let go of me?" asked Rose, worried that it had been too much.

Jack scowled, "Nothing nearly as much as you're worth, Rosie, but way more than he is."

"That bad, huh?" she said sardonically. She wasn't surprised by the greediness of George Allen's desperation to maintain an image.

"Yeah, I would've liked nothing more to deck him and make off with you, but that wouldn't have solved anything," he admitted freely.

She hummed. "Definitely not. Men like him are good at making sure they get what they want. 'Specially in these times."

"Confession," said Jack suddenly, eyes on the ceiling. Rose turned her head. "I don't have a clue how to get back to the Doctor."

"Neither do I," admitted Rose. They were in times that were, frankly, primitive. "I figured I would get to England and try looking into suspicious events, see if I found him meddling like he usually does."

He hummed in appreciation. "Not bad, as far as plans go. It's hard to keep up with a man like the Doctor."

"Tell me about it," said Rose, drily.

"I do have a swab of his DNA back at my apartment," he admitted.

Utterly bewildered, she leaned up on her elbow to get a better look at him, asking, "How in the _world _did you get that?"

"Remember before I ran off to face the Daleks? He was the last person I kissed before then. I took a swab off my mouth before leaving the Game Station. Kept it in a vial."

Rose nodded slowly. "How's that going to help us?"

"Well, if we weren't stuck in the Dark Ages and my Vortex Manipulator worked, I would set up some tech to trace him with it."

That surprised her. Then again, maybe it shouldn't.

"You can do that?"

"It's not easy but it can be done."

After a moment, Rose said finally, "That's creepy."

Jack shrugged, grinning at her. They fell into silence for a few moments, both staring at the ceiling.

In a way, it would be bittersweet to leave this part of her life behind. While the eldest Allen children were every bit as awful as their father, the women and the staff had been dear to her throughout her time there. The wistfulness clashed with her eagerness to run away, however. It was a feeling she was used to, from her traveling years

"So, husband," said Rose, suddenly, wanting a distraction from her dark thoughts.

"Wife," returned Jack, grinning mischievously at her. "Oh, how I wish the Doctor had been there for this one! He'd've been _boiling _with rage!"

"I can't believe you quoted the Backstreet Boys at me!" she laughed, addressing how hours before he had used the boy band music as declaration of love. "How'd you know of them? You didn't even know about Spock when I met you!"

"Still don't, for that matter. The Backstreet Boys were still popular in my time! Very romantic – don't knock it!" He pointed a finger at her when she gave an incredulous laugh. It reminded her of the ever classic 'Tainted Love' and 'Toxic' still being played five billion years in the future.

Thinking of the future stole her happiness again. What would the Doctor think of this? Jack had joked about it, but the thought unsettled her a bit. Who loves one person and marries another?

Jack might have sensed her uneasiness, because suddenly he said, "Honestly, the marriage thing will work in our favor."

"How do you mean?" asked Rose, confused.

"While the brother-sister routine would be ideal, you were right about us not looking alike. Who knows how long this will take us? Chances are we'll end up staying in one place for a while every now and then. We need to fly under the radar."

"And posing as husband and wife will help." She was still a bit doubtful. Logically, it made sense.

"Exactly. No one will question us being together all the time, we'll be able to live together, no unwanted suitors for you -" Here he waggled his eyebrows at her, making her giggle. "And we can work on getting home."

She didn't know what to say really, but she didn't have to, because Jack continued. "First thing in the morning, we're getting out of here. We can go back to my place and get to work. We need money, especially since I'm low after today."

Rose winced. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't apologize. If there is anyone I'm willing to drop all my money on, it's you," said Jack sweetly, raising her hand to his mouth to place a kiss on it.

"I'm glad I found you, Jack," confessed Rose, emotion clouding her voice.

He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too."

"Home?" she asked, voice wavering at the idea. There was an image of grunge-like coral and pinstripes in her mind and she wanted to latch onto it forever.

"Home," he said confidently. Jack held out his arms for a hug, which she gratefully fell into. Soon, they were asleep after a long, unnecessary day, thinking of the future.


	6. Patience is the Long Game

_July, 1871._

_Brooklyn, New York._

"This is fucking exhausting," complained Rose under her breath, unable to keep her discontent from showing. She was scrubbing the countertop in a tavern, making herself look busy to talk to Jack, who was visiting her on a break from his own job.

Since their forced wedding, they had moved to a flat in Brooklyn, both obtaining jobs to earn back the money they lost to the Allen family. In their down time, they would pursue odd happenings around the States, trying to see if anything would give them a lift to a more civilized time or even to the Doctor himself. So far, no luck.

Her complaint was referring to the feeling of being on edge, waiting day in and out for an opportunity to run back into space. But Jack, embittered by a job he hated, took it to be about her job.

"You think it's bad for you? I'm in _construction. Me! _Look at this face, Rose! This is not a face meant to be wasted on 19th century steel framing!" He made a wide gesture to his pretty face. He usually wasn't so against a job or role, but with nearly a year behind them, she could see how it was starting to get to him.

"You should be in theater with the way you carry on," remarked Rose drily. The patron next to Jack, a heavy-set older man who could use a bath, snorted with laughter while the man in question glowered at her.

"You two married?" the man asked, pointing between the two of them.

Rose nodded while Jack grumbled, "Unfortunately."

"He says that, but truly, I'm the greatest thing that's ever happened to him," said Rose with a wink. To Jack, she said, "Quit your whining. At least you don't have old men making a grab at you. Work is work, ain't nothing wrong with construction."

There was a time where she would be complaining as well.

"Here, here!" cheered the patron, who was clearly enjoying himself too much. Jack shot him a look before opening his mouth to get sassy with Rose.

Before he could though, a young man burst into the tavern, panting heavily as he yanked his hat from his head. All eyes were on him immediately with some hands wandering to pistols.

"Explosion on the Bay! The Westfield, they say. We need hands!" he shouted, before turning and running back out. The tavern immediately burst into a raucous.

Rose and Jack exchanged a look. Explosions? Sounds like trouble that could include their goal.

Without a word, they dropped their rags and drink respectively and leapt for the door. She ignored the sound of her boss shouting after her. They had been waiting for a chance like this, after all, and she certainly wasn't going to give it up a job paying her next to nothing.

The tavern she worked in was blocks away from the bay, but they could see and smell the smoke the moment they hit the street. It was billowing up in a menacing black cloud and there were screams in the distance. They looked up at the sight for a moment before jointly deciding to run straight towards it.

Jack weaved in and out of the crowds, ducking into alleys and side streets to find quicker routes to the site. Rose struggled to keep up with him, a stitch growing in her side.

When, at last, they came to a stop at the docks, Jack glanced back at where she was leaning, hands on her knees, trying to breathe.

"We need to work on getting you back into shape, sweetheart," he remarked.

Rose glared at him from her position. "I'd like to see you run with this many layers of skirts on!"

Even as she said that, she knew it was from a complete lack of physical exercise since she had returned to this universe. Torchwood had her training every day, keeping her in peak physical condition. When she crashed in 1868, she had a soldier's body. And now she was mush.

They really did need to work on getting her back into shape.

The scene they arrived on was horrific. Under the column of smoke was a half-destroyed boat, slowly sinking on the half that remained. Where it broke off into the part that was missing, the steel was jutting and twisting in different directions, blackened by the explosion. In the waters were hundreds of people.

No, not people: bodies. All of them were moving in some way, but in a way that suggested they were all alive. The ones that were visibly alive were screaming over each other, trying desperately to wade through the water and carnage, spitting out water, blood, and oil.

Rose watched in abject horror as a woman tried to grab onto something, anything, and happened to latch onto the body of a child. When she realized what she was grabbing, she screamed shrilly and flung herself away, only to be dragged under the water by the weight of her skirts.

She wasn't the only one. There were dozens of people in similar states around her, all trying to get to the docks and to safety.

Rose had seen massacres. She had watched people walk to their deaths, cried out as people were recklessly murdered, rebelled against mindless slaughter. This was her first time witnessing people drown. Horrifying wasn't a strong enough word to describe it. Standing on those docks, she felt shaken to her core at the sheer terror pouring off the people in waves.

Jack grabbed her arm and she flinched. She met his eyes with her wild ones and realized he had been speaking to her.

"C'mon, Rose, we have to help!" he shouted over the din. She pointed to her skirts, yelling back that she couldn't get into the water without causing more trouble. She couldn't swim with all this on her. He replied, "I'll get in there, but you have to help pull people up. Can you do that?"

Rose nodded. She tore her apron off as Jack removed his jacket. Around them, there were all types of people doing the same, ready to jump in and save as many people as they could.

"Can you swim, lad?!" shouted an older, weathered man who was divesting himself of his waistcoat. There were men of varying ages around him in similar positions, each of them jumping into the water when they unburdened themselves of their effects.

"Yes, sir! At your service," replied Jack. He tore his boots off and quickly jumped into the water. She wouldn't seem him again for some time.

"You, girl, stay out of the way," the same man commanded. Rose scoffed, moving hers and Jack's stuff out of the way. The man was gone when she turned around. A couple meters away she could see some ladies lingering on the edges, unsure of what to do.

Rose waved them over. One or two looked startled, but some seemed to share her determination. As they approached, she shouted. "We might not be of any use down there, but we can help pull people up! Come help!"

One of the younger girls hesitated until an older woman growled, "Pull yourself together and help, or so help me, I'll throw you in there with them."

With threats and cajoling out of the way, Rose led the women to the edges of the docks. There were already some survivors reaching up, attempting to pull themselves on. Hurrying, they began assisting them, pulling them from their limbs or shirts, whatever they could grab onto.

Once or twice, Rose found herself pulling up a dead body, shuddering in revulsion as she dropped them once more. They would have to pull them out eventually, but right now they needed to focus on the living.

There were a few children clinging to floating scrap near her. The sight twisted her stomach.

Leaning forward, she shouted to them to get their attention of their own cries, "Come to me, over here!"

They couldn't swim all that well and it made the process difficult. Two women joined her, calling out to the children and reaching out as far as they could. A man Rose didn't recognize, covered in filth from the water, waded over and grabbed the scraps the children were on, pulling them towards the docks.

"Oh, thank you, _thank you," _cried some of the women, latching onto the children's arms and hands. The man spat some filth out while nodding at them before launching himself back into the nightmare. It was times like these where Rose truly admired the tenacity of the human race.

When Rose finished pulling the child she could reach onto the docks, she turned and saw emergency forces showing up. There were emergency boats already in the water on the scene, and now land help had arrived.

They filed over, taking command of the situation. "Out of the way, ladies, we'll take it from here!"

"I can still help!" she protested. A few women lingered with her, glaring at the men while holding the survivors they had just pulled out close to them.

"You're a hindrance, not an aid. Remove yourself from this area at once," he snapped, turning to order his men in various directions.

Rose reached out and grabbed his arm, determined to force him to listen to her. "But –"

Quicker than Rose could react to, the man twisted her arm and pushed her away from him. She stumbled backwards and hit the ground, staring up in dumb shock. He didn't even spare her a backwards glance.

"R-Marion, are you alright?" yelled Jack at the sight of her on the ground before the brute. He was pulling himself up onto the docks. He clambered over to her, standing protectively between her and the other man. "What happened here?"

"He pushed me because we were helping!" Rose claimed, knowing full well that they were fighting a losing battle with a man like this.

"What's your problem? These ladies were doing an excellent job saving lives. Why can't they keep helping?" demanded Jack as he pulled Rose to her feet.

The man was barely paying them half a mind. She'd never wished for the psychic paper more than in situations like this. With that, she could command attention.

Jack saw that the man wasn't paying attention and, as he was about to walk away, he grabbed the man's shoulder to force him back. "I was speaking to you, you-"

The sight of the pistol on the man's hip was what made Rose's anger freeze. Quickly, she snatched Jack's arm and pulled him back.

"Don't," she said. He fought against her hold. "Don't, James, it's not worth it. They can take it from here."

"Listen to your woman, boy," growled the man. Rose was tempted to let Jack punch him just once, but it would get them nowhere.

Throwing one last glare at the man, Rose grabbed Jack's hand and dragged him after her, ignoring his protests. She grabbed their things from the ground where they left them and shoved his jacket and boots at him.

Still grumbling, Jack jerked his boots on and threw his jacket over this shoulder. "Should've let me deal with him!"

"And let you get yourself killed?! Forget it," she snapped, tying her apron around her waist. "We have bigger things at stake than our pride."

"It's not just about -" he started angrily, cutting himself off with a growl. He closed his eyes, sighed deeply, and relaxed his shoulders. She had seen him do this many times in their time together. Let the anger roll right off him. It was a good ability to have.

"Alright, I have to get back to the job site, let them know what happened. Roy's a good man, he'll understand," said Jack. "I'll see you at the flat soon, yeah?"

She was thankful he didn't call it home. Still, Rose grimaced. "I don't think I'll be so lucky. MacMillan's a right prat."

He chuckled and landed a kiss on her forehead, wishing her luck before heading off in a different direction.

Making her way back to her job, Rose tried to get the images of the wreckage out of her mind. It was likely to plague her in the coming weeks. It was perfect timing to begin exercising again. She needed an outlet. Maybe Jack could show her some 51st century moves that would give her an edge.

She groaned when she got back to the streets of her workplace. Her boss was standing outside the door with his arms crossed and a heavy scowl, which got heavier at the sight of her.

She was getting fired today.

* * *

_December, 1872._

_Brooklyn, New York._

It was their third Christmas season together that found Rose and Jack training in what little space they had in their cramped flat.

Rose was gasping for air, fingernails clawing at Jack's arm that was around her throat. He had one of her legs pinned harshly into the hardwood with his knee, locking her into position.

"C'mon, Rosie, you know how to get out of this," he said, unaffected by her struggling.

His leg pinning hers prevented her from widening her stance. If she could withstand a little bit of pain, she could still widen it a little bit. With increasing focus, she moved her free foot to the side, turning her body in his hold. Pain blossomed in her pinned knee as Jack pressed more into it.

Rose tucked her chin into his arm to open her airway more. She kept her nails in his arm but focused on building her strength in her right arm. While he was focused on trying to pin her other leg, she calculated where his kidney would be behind her. She gave herself a count. One, two - then she pulled her right arm back, scratching his arm deeply, and launching her elbow into his abdomen behind her.

Jack's muscles were, frankly, impressive. She knew that one kidney shot was not nearly enough, even if he grunted. Before he could tighten his hold on her, she followed up the elbow to his stomach with a hard punch backwards onto his upper thigh. His hold instinctively slackened as he hunched down to control the pain. It gave her room to jerk her head backwards, slamming the back of her skull into his jaw. He gave a shout that he repeated when she hooked her free leg around his and pulled him down to the side. They crashed onto the floor, where Jack finally released her to stabilize himself.

She used this to her advantage. Rose twisted and landed another punch, this time on his throat. He choked, his one hand flying to his neck and his other grabbing her wrist. He pinned her arm to her chest and rolled to press his knee into her upper thigh, stilling her.

"Time, time," he gasped. Rose loosened immediately, the fight gone from her. Her chest heaved as she panted and she pushed Jack away from her.

They laid there on the hardwood for a couple moments, bruised and battered. They had had five rounds of sparring before this one. So far, no broken bones and only a little bit of bleeding. All in all, pretty good.

"Not bad, Commander Tyler," came Jack's voice after a while. She gave a short laugh and grinned at him. She had definitely been improving over the months. Slowly, she was getting back to where she was in Pete's World.

There was a heavy knocking on their door. Followed by the familiar, Italian voice of their downstairs neighbor. "Che palle! What in goodness are you doing in there, Harrison?!"

"Damn," muttered Rose. This was the exact reason she hadn't made _more _progress. It was impossible to work out and train in such a small flat. They had neighbors above, below, and on either side of them who, for all the noise they had no problem making day in and day out, were frequent complainers of the activities she and Jack got up to.

Jack got to his feet quicker than her, reaching a hand down to pull her up. They shared a grimace at the pain they both experienced across their bodies. Quickly, they tried to make themselves look somewhat presentable. None of Jack's wounds had started to obviously bruise yet and she hoped she looked the same.

The knocking continued up until the exact moment they yanked the door open. Beyond it was the short, round form of Vincenzo Ghiretti.

"Can't focus on my papers with all the noise you two are producing! What in the world are you getting up to? Surely you can't be _that _rough in your amorous doings," rambled Mr. Ghiretti, shamelessly.

Rose flushed at the suggestion while Jack guffawed. Of _course_, they thought it was because they were having rowdy sex. It was a natural assumption to be made, but, in this case, entirely off base. She suddenly felt exposed in her shift and her hair uncovered.

"Oh, I don't know, I think she likes it that way," responded Jack, throwing a wink in her direction.

She glowered at him, not knowing how to deny them having sex when they would have to provide some sort of other explanation for what they were up to. Far better for people to assume they were loud lovers than them knowing what they were actually up to. Physical exercise wasn't unheard of in this time, but a woman doing it? She had gotten too many questions from the staff at the Allen home when one of them had caught her running in the woods one day.

If anything, she was glad they assumed it was sex and not that Jack was hurting her. That would have been a natural assumption as well.

Jack went on to refute his claim, however, by telling the man they were having a 'light jog' around the flat. Their definitions of what sounded like jogging seemed to differ.

Mr. Ghiretti seemed to agree with her, if his incredulous expression said anything. He gave them both a glance over, taking in their sweaty forms. "You're a bit small to be making that much sound with...jogging."

"You'd think! But she walks like an elephant!" joked Jack, poking her in the ribs.

Rose smacked his hand away, narrowing her eyes at the lie. "Alright, enough of that now! Would you like to come in for some tea, sir?"

Mr. Ghiretti gave her a kind smile. "I'm afraid not, cara. La moglie was rather cross when I came up here. Oltre a, I've got my daughter learning to read down there. She were reading me the 'The Mystery of the _Mary Celeste."_

His voice gained a showman's ominous tone at the end. Rose tilted her head, unfamiliar with what he was referencing. "What's that then? A novel?"

"Psh! A novel!" the portly man exclaimed. "Haven't you gotten the paper today?"

Jack shook his head. "We didn't hear the boy come by."

Rose looked down at the ground and saw a wet roll of newspaper by their door. "Looks like we need to pay more attention."

She grabbed the paper and unfurled it to see an image of a ship in tropical waters stamped onto the front. Above it was the title, 'The Mystery of the _Mary Celeste.'_

"Big news then?" said Jack as he glanced it over.

Mr. Ghiretti nodded excitedly. Ever the one for a good story, he told them, "Ship left from here in November. Two weeks ago, they find it floating along near Portugal! Whole crew - _gone!"_

Rose shared a loaded look with Jack as their neighbor spoke. Mystery, indeed.

"What about pirates?" asked Rose, feeling silly saying so. Pirates were a big deal in these times. She supposed they always were in a way, but these were the swashbuckling pirates immortalized in film in her time. They weren't nearly as prevalent as in the 18th century, however.

"Could be," said the man with a shrug. "There's many theories going around about what happened. Give it a read and we can talk after the holiday about it. And stop the noise, will you?"

"Will do! Buon natale, Signore Ghiretti!" said Jack with cheer. The man echoed the holiday wishes with a jaunty wave over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. They shut the door and retreated into their flat.

Rose settled at the rickety table they kept next to their window, spreading the paper before her, while Jack lay on their bed.

She had read through the articles concerning the event twice before Jack asked, "What's it say?"

"Ship was heading for Genoa, captained by a Benjamin Briggs. The_ Dei Gratia _found it near Portugal, completely deserted at full sail. The only lifeboat was gone, food abandoned, personal effects left behind, and ship mostly undamaged. There's been no sign of any of the people who were on board, but also no real sign of a struggle." Rose summarized. "There are trials going over the contents of the ship in Gibraltar. They think a crime was committed. They've got the ship there."

"I have a feeling I know where this is going," said Jack, carefully.

"I think it's worth looking into," said Rose, giving him a pleading look. "I mean, c'mon, it practically spells alien involvement."

"And we're supposed to just go to Spain? We haven't even managed to go to England yet." argued Jack. He sighed and rubbed his jaw where she bruised it earlier. Reluctantly, he said, "We'll have to arrange for transport and make sure we're paid up on our flat."

At Rose's grimace, he fixed her with a serious expression. "Don't, sweetheart. There's always a chance we're going to end up back here and we can't let it all fall apart on a slight possibility that we'll find him."

She hated when he talked like that. It made her want to yell at him that they _would_ find the Doctor.

Instead, she gave him a sly grin. "Is that a yes?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."

* * *

_September, 1873._

_Manhattan, New York._

It was midday on a Friday afternoon late in 1873 when Rose found herself walking arm in arm with Jack in the city. He had switched jobs recently, managing to swing a gig filing paperwork with the police department. It meant late hours and ending up in a different borough every time she turned around, but it was better pay and, even better, gave him access to the weird happenings around the city.

Their search into the mystery of the _Mary Celeste _went nowhere. While there was an incredibly high chance that alien involvement had played a role in the mystery, they were unable to convince the people involved to allow them more information to get to the bottom of it. After wasting far too much money, two months of travel, and what little patience they had, they got nothing for it. They were blocked at every turn, dismissed for busy body thrill chasers.

Nothing said that the Doctor was there at all. He could have never been there. They weren't able to find out either way.

Months later found them walking to Central Park to take lunch that afternoon. Rose was off from her own job of running errands for a local seamstress in Brooklyn. She loved the opportunity to explore Manhattan as it was building up, as it was only on its way to the city that was so famous in her time. Now that the years had passed, their chances of running into the Allen family were at an all time low, and they felt more confident that they would not have to endure an interaction with them if they were to roam around.

The two of them were chatting amiably about Jack's new sexual conquest from work who was understandably (at least in Rose's eyes) nervous about people knowing about the two of them. Jack didn't think anyone would find out but the young man in question was getting increasingly paranoid. She thought it was time for him to find a new one.

When they arrived at the park, it was around midday. The south end of the park was a popular location to be in and it showed by the people milling about, taking lunch and enjoying the cooler temperatures. They found a semi-private location to sit out on the grass in the sun.

While Jack set out the meal he had bought for them on his coat, Rose poured over the articles covering this financial panic the city seemed to be in. She knew she should downplay her reading abilities considering how low class they appeared on the outside, but she couldn't be bothered while they were in such a high traffic location. If there's anything the city of New York is good for, it's going unnoticed.

As she read, a growing feeling of unease rose up in her. The New York Stock Exchange was going on its seventh day being closed. People were already panicked on the third day, now it had grown to outright fear of the future.

Highly agitated as she tried to get through the third analysis of events, she threw the newspaper down between them.

"I think we're in trouble," stated Rose matter-of-factly.

Jack's eyebrow arched in mild concern. "Why's that?"

"This financial crisis. Inflation, the Chicago Fire, the Boston Fire, the Franco-Prussian War – it's caught up to the banks. I mean, they're predicting that this will devastate the country. Possibly even other countries too! What are we going to do?" she spewed.

He shrugged, looking every bit like it didn't concern him in the least. "Nothing. What can we do? It's their problem. Financial crises come and go. It's the nature of capitalism."

His statement did nothing to soothe her. She crossed her arms and scowled at him. "How are we going to go trapezing around the world if we have no money?"

"We'll have plenty of money with this new job. We'll be fine," he said, waving off her concern. She knew he was more relaxed when it came to money, but there was no way he could be _this _casual about it.

Rose started in on him, listing all the worries she had. What if the banks lost their money? What if inflation caused the price to get to Europe too high for them to afford? What if, what if, what if.

"Weeping Angels!" Jack suddenly exclaimed, on an entirely different note as far as she could tell.

Rose shook her head, her brow furrowed. "'Scuse me?"

He looked at her excitedly. "That's what sent you here! The Weeping Angels!"

It was nice to put a name to those creatures. It was also off subject and something she truly didn't care about at the time. "That what them statues were properly called then?"

"Yes! I had a run in with them back with the Time Agency. I knew that story sounded familiar -"

Rose cut him off, mid-ramble, annoyed at him. "It's been three years since I told you about that. You're just randomly thinking about it? You weren't listening to a word I was saying about the banks, were you?"

Jack was at least able to look a little sheepish. "No, I'm sorry, but hey, now we know what sent you here."

"What a relief," she replied, deadpan.

He huffed and took a bite from lunch. "You're in a mood today."

She was being rude. She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm worried about the money."

He waved off her concerns, looking dismissively at the newspaper. "We're going to be fine. I never put all our money in the banks anyway. Long as we're careful, no one will notice that we're not exactly rationing."

Rose could tell he wasn't going to budge where the money was concerned. If he believed he had everything under control, he most likely did.

"Fine. Tell me about the statues."

"I faced them once, back with the Agency. They're parasites, Rose. They feed off potential energy. Kindest killers in the universe, or so the story goes," Jack said excitedly.

"How's that then?"

"The moment they touch you they send you back in time to live out the rest of your life. They feed off the life and energy you would have had otherwise. The catch for them though is that they can't move if someone is looking at them."

"At all?"

"Never. But the moment you look away or even _blink-"_ He jumped at her, causing her to flinch hard. She smacked him. "They get you. And they're _fast, _faster than anything you could imagine."

"Well, that's not at all frightening." Rose wiped some crumbs from her skirts. "How'd they end up sending me across the void then?"

Jack shrugged. "They're powerful, temporal creatures, Rosie. I'm surprised you even had them in your universe if Time Lords didn't exist there. They might not have sensed that you weren't from that universe when they grabbed you. You said you were covered in the void stuff? Well, you're also covered in the time vortex, something that probably wasn't tangible in that world."

Rose made a face, remembering how little that topic was brought up after it happened. "The Doctor would have a fit if he heard you mention me and the time vortex in the same sentence."

"Like it or not, pulling the vortex into your head had an effect. Most likely, for the better," said Jack.

She was well-aware of his theories about looking into the heart of the TARDIS. He would shoot them off at her at unexpected times. She was learning to entertain him without indulging him. So she told him, "I think that's enough conjecture for today."

"Hey, those Angels might be psychopathic bastards, but right about now, I'd like to give one of 'em a big, fat smooch!" he declared with a wide grin.

"And end up somewhere in the Middle Ages? You're on your own for that one," laughed Rose, wanting no part of seeing the Weeping Angels again. She also hated to imagine that his appetite could possibly extend to such a creature.

Jack wagged a finger in her face. "Joke all you like, but they sent you back to the proper universe. That's something."

She looked out over the park where people were walking, lounging, and playing. Everything about this universe, even in the wrong time, felt right. She was meant to be here, in this world, her original world. The smells, the tastes, the textures – all of it was exactly as it should be. There was a hole in her life that was left by the Doctor and her family. There was no denying that. But she belonged to this world and that meant more than she could express.

Finally, she smiled. "It sure is."


	7. Melpomene

_July, 1874._

_Manhattan, New York._

It was summer. It was hot, sticky, and Rose was longing for an air conditioning unit. Or a trip to the Arctic. Whichever would come sooner. Anything that would relieve the despicable feeling of being suffocated by the air she was breathing or the constant damp feeling of her dress against her skin.

That was entirely the reason why she was so irritable. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that she and Jack were arguing, yet again, over the amount of time that had passed for them.

Jack was far more patient than her and he repeated his favorite phrase, "We can wait, sweetheart."

They were seated in a tavern, hiding from the heat of the afternoon. They were recovering from a recent scrape with a Dæmon. A silly child living in New Jersey had someone managed to radiate enough emotional power behind a summon for help. The Dæmon wanted payment after obliterating the child's abusive father – which was a mess within itself to deal with – and the two of them had had their work cut out for them trying to convince Azal that a child couldn't be expected to understand the consequences of what they asked.

It was a long week.

Rose gave a frustrated noise, settling her beer down with too much force. There was a loose strand of brown hair hanging into front of her face and she pushed it back angrily. "How long? I'm not going to live forever, certainly not long enough to wait for the tech we need."

He looked cautiously curious. "How old are you now?"

"30. Ish." She tacked on, not quite sure of her exact age. When she was travelling, she had a hard time keeping track of dates. She knew she had at least travelled for two years, placing her at nearly 22 by the time she landed in Pete's World. It had been around eight years since then.

"You look good for 30, Rose. And, for once, I don't mean that in a flirtatious way." He added, looking serious. "You look the same as you did at the Game Station. It's been, what? Eight years for you?"

Rose felt a chill go through her. He said what she had been thinking for some time. She hadn't visibly gotten older. She passed for younger than she was with most people she encountered thinking she was in her early twenties.

Mind, people aged a smidge faster in this era, with the impact of disease and risky working conditions. She wasn't from this time and benefitted from the advancements of her time, not to mention the boost given by the Doctor's excellent medical care when they travelled together. Yet, in eight years, she could have expected to see the beginnings of lines on her face or _something. _

The implications scared her. She swallowed. "What do you think that means?"

"I don't know, but maybe the Doctor does. Maybe the time vortex had more effects than we thought."

"Genetics?" offered Rose, because she didn't like the sound of the heart of the TARDIS changing her. If it had, why hadn't they noticed? If it had, why hadn't it foreseen this circumstance?

"I mean no offence, but your mother wasn't exactly aging gracefully," said Jack, apologetically. She glared but had nothing to say in her mum's defense. It was true. The Tyler family were products of their conditions. They were poor for most of Rose's life and poverty didn't exactly allow for the best health conditions.

"What does it mean for us then?" she asked.

He considered it for a moment. "That we probably have more time than you think. That we can't stay in New York any more. Not that we'll be too sad to leave, admittedly."

Rose gave a short laugh. It couldn't be said that they loved New York.

"Definitely not. Where should we go?"

"We have enough money to go to England. We might fare better there. At least we know the Doctor loves going to England all throughout history. We have a higher chance of running into him there." Jack said confidently.

It was a curious thing, Rose thought, that the Doctor liked England so much. Don't get her wrong, she was proud to be British, but the Earth was a decently sized planet. There was a lot to see beyond just the British Isles.

"I think it's because of the rift," said Jack. Rose gave him a startled look. How did he - "You said that out loud."

She flushed a little while considering his response. The rift was a powerful source of energy. It would make sense that it attracted the Doctor, and probably all those other alien races as well.

Before they could make any headway on a set plan to leave the States, there was a raucous outside the tavern. The noise had the patrons of the bar murmuring and looking towards the door, Rose and Jack included. The owner of the bar, an ugly older man, slammed into the tavern, muttering about an 'ungrateful wretch.'

Rose and Jack shared a look before moving. They downed the rest of their drinks, tossed the payment on the table, and headed for the door, Rose tying her hat into place as they went. She gave a forced smile in the direction of the owner before stepping into the sunlight.

The street was hot, and dust swirled from a nearby construction site. They couldn't see anything that would give the owner cause to be carrying on the way he was.

Rose saw a few people look in the direction of the alleyway next to the tavern with guilty eyes. She grabbed Jack's arm and pulled him in that direction, confident they would find something there.

Against the side of the building, they found a woman sitting and crying into her hands. Quickly, the two of them hurried over and kneeled next to her.

"Hey, hey, hey, what happened here?" asked Rose gently. She laid a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder while Jack produced a handkerchief.

"I-I'm sorry! Don't m-mind me, please," pleaded the woman. Her embarrassment colored her cheeks. She tried to scrub away the tears and make herself presentable.

"Oh, no, none of that, now!" said Rose, placating her. She rubbed her back where she could reach. "What's your name?"

"Eliza G-Goodman, madam."

Rose shook her head kindly. "None of that madam business. My name is Marion and this is my husband, James."

"Nice to meet you," said Jack with a flirty grin. "Now, what has a pretty girl like you crying?"

She was indeed pretty. Under the splotches from crying and the tear tracks, the girl had beautiful eyes and delicate features. It didn't stop Rose from shooting Jack a warning look. Which he ignored.

"Mr. C-Collins fired me because I wouldn't stop c-crying," Eliza told them with a great sniff. She gazed at them with a mixture of embarrassment and chastisement. "I wanted to stop but I couldn't s-stop thinking about Ch-Charley Ross. That p-poor little boy!"

Charley Ross was a little boy of only four years who had been kidnapped in Philadelphia recently. From Rose's understanding, this was the first major kidnapping case in the States. The story of it was sweeping the nation. Mothers clutched their children closer to them in the street and people were wary of strange men.

"Yes, we heard about that," said Rose soberly. They had been tempted to investigate, in fact. But Jack rationalized that it was most likely all human and that the child was long dead. "It's a sad thing, indeed. I've spent many nights worrying over it myself."

With that admission, she received a shaky smile from Eliza.

"You shouldn't be fired over that, though," commented Jack, brows furrowed.

Eliza took a breath to keep herself from crying once more. "It was interfering with the work, he said. Can't have a woman's wailing driving the customers away."

"What a bastard," remarked Rose with a huff. She glared in the direction of the door to the tavern.

"I-I have nowhere t-to go!" Eliza Goodman cried. She pressed her hands into her eyes, taking a few shuddering breaths. "I have no family. Working h-here was all I had!"

Rose and Jack shared a look. She knew immediately that he wanted to take the girl in. She knew immediately that it probably wasn't a good idea. Lastly, she knew immediately that they would be taking her in, without a doubt.

When the look broke, Jack said to her, "Come with us."

The girl's worrying stopped suddenly from shock. She stared at them in confusion, sniffling. "What do you mean?"

"Come with us," he repeated. He held out his hand to her. "You can stay with us."

Eliza hesitated to take his hand. "But I haven't got much money. I wouldn't be able to pay rent or –"

Rose interrupted here, against her better judgment. "That is no issue, dear. We wouldn't ask it of you."

The woman bit her lip, unsure. "I've only just met you. Why would you want to help me?"

"We mean it, Miss Eliza. We wouldn't ask anything of you. You're sweet and you deserve better." Jack added.

"A-Alright," she hiccupped, finally accepting Jack's hand. Rose smiled at her and they all stood together.

Jack held his elbow out to her. "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, sweetheart."

They walked arm-in-arm with Eliza between them, off to find a carriage back to Brooklyn. Jack managed to coax some chatter out of the woman as they went, and Rose tried her best to hide her niggling worry. This would be okay. It had to be.

* * *

_September, 1875._

_Long Island, New York._

Rose was learning how easy it was for life to get in the way of plans. She thought she had understood when she was younger, and her future disappeared as she threw herself into a bad relationship with Jimmy Stone. Life was harsh and unpredictable, and nothing ever went the way you thought it would. And when she met the Doctor, she came to believe that was a good thing.

Five years ago, when she and Jack began their journey back to their old lives, they were set on it. Nothing was going to get in the way or slow them down. Yet, it had been five years of dead ends and delays. Rose was past beginning to worry that they would never get back to the Doctor. Jack had a longer lifespan than her, though he was never very specific on that. Which was all well and good for him, but Rose wasn't as lucky. As time went on, the Doctor's words from when she met Sarah Jane were circling her head. _Wither and die. _

Taking in Eliza was either the best or worst decision they had made since embarking on their journey together. The poor woman was every bit as sweet as she was the day they met her. She was unfailingly kind and had a laugh that could make flowers blossom.

Jack never stood a chance.

He fell and fell hard. Eliza did too. What started as friendly companionship between the three of them quickly turned into a passionate flame between Jack and Eliza. The poor girl thought she was intruding on her friends' marriage, leaving her to give a fearful confession to Rose.

Rose laughed and reassured the girl that Jack and herself had married only for convenience and not out of romance. She was free to pursue something with Jack, if she so wished. They wouldn't tell her the truth about them. Not yet, at least.

Secretly, she was worried that Jack's infatuation was going to get in the way of their mission. It was selfish of her, and so she never told him. Pete had told her once, while training her to fight and kill, that she was a selfish girl. She hated hearing it, but he was right. She tried to hold that memory here. Jack had every right to his happiness, even if it meant adjusting her plans to get to her own. She owed him a great deal and she wouldn't get in the way of this for him. He was still looking for a way back, as it was.

Eliza had been worried about the talk that would come from it if she had a dalliance with Jack.

"Sweetheart, I have been known as the woman with a faithless husband for years. It is no matter what those people think," Rose told her. It was true. Jack had an appetite that exceeded the norm for the times. Something about his 51st century biology. And since Rose had no intention of sleeping with him, he sought his release elsewhere.

It was often the topic for their neighbors, before and after their move to Long Island. Brooklyn had been nice for the years they had spent there. However, as she said, the neighbors were chatty. They would have noticed how good Rose and Jack were looking before long. The gossip was rough already. They couldn't risk it being worse. Rose wanted to leave the country, as she wasn't that fond of it in the first place. But they had Eliza to consider now.

Whatever further fears Eliza had been soothed by Jack himself. Their arrangement in their house adjusted to fit the growing relationship between the two.

Yet, despite the good parts, this was the situation they ended up in.

Eliza was whimpering, pleading for Rose to help her. "Please Marion! It - it hurts!"

Sweat was dripping down Rose's face as she helped prop the woman up. She wished for the thousandth time since Eliza went into labor that Jack was allowed in the room, but the midwife had forbidden it.

Her hand was currently being shattered by Eliza, but it hardly mattered. "I know, love, hold on! You're almost there, and then you can rest. Deep breaths!"

The midwife, Mrs. Croy, between Eliza's legs was working quickly. Her weathered face was pinched in concentration as she did whatever it is she was doing. Her short commands were the only words she spoke. "Keep pushing, child. I can see the head!"

Eliza released a scream that sent a wave of dread over Rose. Rose knew it was difficult to birth a baby, but something seemed dreadfully wrong. There was far too much blood on Mrs. Croy to bode well.

For the millionth time in recent months, Rose cursed Jack's carelessness. He said pregnancy shouldn't be possible. He was on a birth control that supposedly lasted decades. Well, so much for that.

It might've been hours before finally Mrs. Croy pulled the baby from Eliza's body. With that, Eliza grew limp, having completed the task at hand. The child was small and red and silent. For only a moment though, because when Mrs. Croy rubbed the child's chest, it gave a fierce cry. It made Rose let go of the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and brought a smile to the face of the midwife.

"A girl," said Mrs. Croy eventually, handing the now swaddled babe to Rose as Eliza was unresponsive.

"It's a girl, 'Liza, a _girl!" _she whispered excitedly to her dear friend. While not much for children herself, Rose was easily blown away by the sight of the squalling babe.

Eliza hadn't responded though and that kept her from being too happy. The woman was gazing blankly at the window while Rose tried to get her to look at the baby.

"Jack! _Jack! _Get in here!" Rose cried, slipping into her friend's old name. He burst through the door immediately as he'd likely been waiting on the other side of it the whole time. His braces were hanging at his sides, his sleeves pushed up and buttons undone, and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

He rushed over to Rose's side and joined her in the bed with Eliza. Carefully, she passed the baby from her arms into Jack's. He eyes were wide with awe as he looked upon his daughter for the first time. His mouth formed the soundless words, 'a girl.' The sight warmed Rose's heart.

"Girl come help me! We need to get this bleeding under control," snapped the midwife at Rose. With that, the moment was gone. She scrambled to help, grabbing flannels to wipe away the sweat, blood, and urine from her friend's legs.

"What else can I do?" Rose asked frantically. She was trying her best to sop up all the fluids, keeping the skin clear for Mrs. Croy to work. The sight between Eliza's legs was something out of a nightmare, causing Rose to swallow the rising bile in her throat.

"What's going on? Why is she still bleeding?" Jack demanded from Eliza's side. He had moved his gaze from his daughter's face to his lover's unmoving one to the two women working furiously at the end of the bed.

"The labor took too long, and the baby tore the vaginal wall. Her anal opening is torn as well," answered Mrs. Croy, her voice stoic as she worked. "I am going to attempt to sew her back up."

Jack spluttered. "Attempt? Shouldn't you be able to do this?! You're a midwife!"

The rage in his voice was desperate and it made the very air around them tremble. A lesser person might have been cowed, but not one with a spirit like Mrs. Croy.

"I am doing a lot with very little, boy! Shut up and tend to your daughter!" she commanded. Then, without giving him chance to combat her, she said to Rose, "Take my place and hold this over the wound."

Rose switched places with her and pressed into the flannel over Eliza's vagina, trying to match the pressure Mrs. Croy was employing. She glanced up at Eliza's face and felt her nausea rise again at the sight of her blank expression.

As she shook her head and turned her gaze downward, Mrs. Croy was at her side again. "Has the bleeding stopped?"

Rose released pressure slightly to observe that the bleeding had slowed. "Not quite, almost."

"Keep the pressure on," commanded the midwife. Rose waited, coiled with a nervousness she hadn't felt in a long time while Mrs. Croy threaded a needle.

When all was said and done, the wound was stitched up. Jack had long stopped lingering over their shoulders and had settled next to his lover's form, brushing her hair off her face with one hand and holding the baby with his other. She couldn't see his eyes and she didn't want to.

Rose still couldn't breathe. The wound was stitched, but when the midwife pulled a blanket over Eliza's legs and turned to face her, she knew there was no good news to be had. Her heart fell to her stomach and her limbs tingled.

"There is nothing more I can do, Mrs. Harrison. I'm sorry," confessed Mrs. Croy, looking every bit as sorry as she claimed to be.

She was the most discrete midwife they could find, under the circumstances. There were rumors about the Harrison household and their arrangement with their maid. Rumors that they naturally tried to circumvent by hiding Eliza's condition as much as possible. They took trips to the countryside repeatedly until Eliza complained of not being able to travel any more. For that last month, she kept out of the public eye.

Mrs. Croy was not a warm woman. She was harsh and said exactly what she thought. She didn't approve of James and Marion Harrison and their maid, Eliza Goodman. Not one bit. Despite her censure, she would not refuse help to those who needed it. Rose admired that in her. In this moment, she admired her true regret of the needless loss of a woman's life.

Because she recognized the genuine remorse, Rose couldn't hold this against her. She knew there was nothing else to be done. In a couple decades, there would be medical advancements that would have prevented this ever happening.

But this wasn't the 20th century; it was the 19th. There was nothing to be done, even if they had done this in a hospital.

"I know," said Rose, nodding. "Thank you for doing what you could. We appreciate it."

Mrs. Croy gave her a searching look. What she found. Rose didn't know. Finally, she nodded and took a deep breath. "I will wash up and walk to town to retrieve Mr. Goff."

Rose flinched. Mr. Goff was the undertaker for their county. He would come and take their Eliza away from them. Because she wouldn't be –

She couldn't think it. She turned away from Mrs. Croy and joined Jack at the bedside once more. The woman left but their small family didn't pay her any attention. They were far too busy grieving what was being stolen from them.

"Beatrice," said Eliza suddenly. There seemed to be a moment of clarity in her hazy eyes. She looked at Jack with severity. "Beatrice Harkness."

Rose was shocked. Jack had told her?

There wasn't enough time.

"Show her the stars, Jack," pleaded Eliza softly.

She could see the trembling in Jack's free hand as he grasped at Eliza's weakening ones. He pressed kiss after kiss to them, murmuring, "I will, love, I promise. I love you."

Rose felt sick. She was looking in on a private moment between lovers and wanted nothing more than to flee. She shouldn't be here. She should give them their space, allow them to spend their final moments together as the family they would never be.

It seemed she would not be allowed to take the coward's path. Eliza brought her attention back to the small family, saying softly, "Take care of them, Rose, and find your Doctor."

Rose couldn't do anything but nod, tears in her eyes. Of course, she would do anything asked of her in that moment. How could she say no to the last request of a woman who had had so little time to truly live her life?

Eliza's breath came to a stop. The blood loss had caught up with her at last.

"I'm sorry, dear, I'm so _so _sorry!" murmured Rose into Jack's hair before pressing her cheek to the top of his head. He said nothing in reply, shoulders shaking beneath her hands. He only cried, clutching his new daughter to his chest as her mother's body lay before them.

* * *

_January, 1877._

_Long Island, New York._

Tragedy was becoming a good friend to Rose Tyler.

By good, of course, she was being facetious. Because as tragedy greeted her yet again, she glared with a burning hatred in his direction.

The loss of Eliza Goodman had blackened their home. The happiness they had been so indulgent in before was so quick to leave them in 1875, and if it weren't for the presence of little Bea, as they called Beatrice, there might not be any left.

In a lot of ways, Bea was the blessing they needed following their loss. They couldn't afford to lose themselves to grief because there was a life depending on them to keep their act together. She forced them to keep moving when they wanted nothing more than to hide from the world.

It was never a question, in Rose's mind, that she would help Jack raise the little girl. They had a discussion once, in the first days after Bea's birth. He didn't expect her to help him, but how could she not? She owed it to Eliza.

Yes, it meant that their plans would have to be put on hold. They would have to wait a couple years before they could start looking for the Doctor again. Yes, it meant she would be even older before she could be reunited with her love. It was something she thought about frequently.

On her worst days, Rose thought of how she never wanted children and now she was playing mother to her friend's child. Those were dark days that came after spending restless nights tending to Bea's needs and she tried her hardest to make sure neither the child nor her father was aware of her internal conflict.

Because, as was typical of life, the dark days were few and the light days were many. For every night spent fussing, there were three times as many days spent soaking up the joy of helping a little life grow. For all the sacrifices made, there were so many blessings that came to them through Bea.

The child was beautiful. Her eyes were bright blue, and her hair was a soft brown, all the best features of her parents. She was going to grow into a stunning woman, Rose knew it. The greatest sound in the world, second only to the TARDIS, was Bea's laugh, so light and beautiful.

She was fifteen months old. She had only just started walking and talking. It was cause for celebration when months before she got up on shaky legs and waddled into her father's arms as he returned home from work.

Her first word had been 'dada' and it brought both laughter and tears to Jack. He told her he had technically been a father before, but this was his first time being truly involved.

Bea's second word blew them away though. She had toddled up to Rose and grasped her skirts. When she turned her blue eyes up at Rose's encouraging face, she exclaimed, "Mama!"

It stilled them for a moment. They hadn't been prompting her to say anything like that and she must have learned it from the other babies in the area.

"Is that okay?" asked Jack, breaking the silence that emphasized Eliza's absence.

Rose met his gaze and smiled gently. She leaned down and picked Bea up, rubbing her nose against the littler one on the child, delighting in her giggle. "Of course, it's okay."

It seemed, though, that dark days had come for them once more.

Winters were a perilous time for everyone. It was easy to fall ill or go hungry. In the years Rose and Jack had spent together, they had been fortunate enough to avoid both hardships. It said something about their resourcefulness, especially given the difficulty of accumulating money in this time.

This winter was no different than the winter before it. It was cold, bitterly so. The people were harsher with each snowfall and the only goal most had was staying close to fires. They were no different. They had their friends in some of their neighbors, the ones who didn't know about Eliza anyway, but they mostly kept to themselves, only really interacting with others to provide Bea with the social mingling she needed to grow properly.

This winter, it seemed, had come to teach them the danger of taking their child near the other children.

Bea was sick. Horribly, wretchedly sick.

It began with coughing. Little ones, here and there, that turned into all-consuming whoops heavy with moisture. Then came the rash, beginning on her stomach and spreading out across her body.

After only a day, Rose panicked. She ran to her nearest neighbor and pleaded with them for something to reduce the fever that was growing in Bea. They gave her willow bark tea and a command to bathe the child.

Once home again, she put a big pot on the stove, filled with water.

"Come here, baby," she said to Bea, gathering her in her arms, "We're going to get you a bath to make you feel better. How's that sound?"

Bea murmured something and Rose took it to be an affirmative. She placed the child on the table to undress her, wishing, not for the first time, that they had a proper restroom in this house. Undressing her was quick work and Rose dashed away for a moment to grab a blanket to rest the baby on.

After turning off the heat under the water, Rose scooped a cup's worth of water from the pot and poured it over the tea leaves in a separate pot. She poured cold water into the hot to even the temperature to a point where she could place Bea in it.

Bea complained as she was placed in the water. Rose did her best to soothe her while using a flannel to wash her.

When she heard the front door open fifteen minutes into the bath, Rose wanted to weep with relief. Jack was home from work. He would know what to do.

"Are you cooking my baby?" joked Jack as he removed his scarf and coat on his way into the kitchen. It was a variation of the same joke he made whenever he found her bathing Bea in the pot.

Rose remembered somewhere saying that children can pick up on the emotions of their parents. She tried to keep the worry from her voice and convey it in her eyes as she said to him, "Bea is sick."

Thankfully, he was intelligent and immediately picked up on the severity of the situation. They were in an era that was only beginning to discover how to prevent masses of people dying from diseases. The danger of a simple cold was harrowing.

If it was something simple, Rose wouldn't be bathing their child in the middle of the afternoon before dinner.

Jack immediately came to the other side of the table, managing to keep his face happy while his eyes were worried.

"Dada!" exclaimed Bea, splashing in her excitement. It caused both parents to laugh in response, despite their worry.

"Hello, my darling," greeted Jack, warmly. Rose knew the moment he took in the rashes covering Bea's body because his eyes flicked to her in a moment of pure panic.

"Let's get you out of the water," she said to Bea, putting her hands under the girl's arms to pull her from the pot. Jack was ready with the blanket from the table to dry her off. With him holding the baby, she was able to grab a light dress to put onto Bea once she was dried properly.

They had to wrestle her, but they managed to get her into the dress. Once they did, Rose strained the tea into a cup for Bea.

Now came the battle of convincing the child to drink. She placed the cup at Bea's lips while Jack held her in his arms, "Drink for me, baby. It'll make you feel better."

"No! Don't wanna!" shouted Bea, turning her head stubbornly away from the cup. Rose gave a frustrated sigh.

"Drink it, darling. If you do, I'll let you have sweets for dinner tonight," promised Jack. Bea's eyes lit up a little at the offer. Any other time, Rose would be spitting over the suggestion that Bea eat sweets for a meal. She knew, however, that Bea would most likely forget before then. And, it had blessedly gotten her to drink the tea.

Hours passed as they watched over her. They played with her, read with her, but Bea wasn't improving. Her skin was slick with sweat and her eyes were unfocused from delirium. They tried to feed her something light, but she only pushed them away before throwing up on the back of Rose's blouse.

"We have to call for a doctor," declared Jack, face tight with fear. Rose nodded adamantly, singing softly to the child in her arms to comfort her. "I'll go now. Dr. Hertz is a few blocks from here."

When he left, Rose prayed that the doctor he sought was available to aid them. She walked Bea to her bedroom and laid her out on the bed.

"Mama?" whispered Bea, clutching her skirt. "Hurts."

"I know, darling, I'm sorry," replied Rose, trying to maintain an air of tranquility for the girl. She kneeled next to the bed and clasped her daughter's hand. "Daddy's bringing someone back to make it all better, I promise."

Bea hummed. She seemed to forget what they had been talking about and instead said, "Sing please?"

Naturally, Rose obliged. She sang any song she could remember from her childhood, ranging from corny musicals to Disney songs. Bea smiled through her coughing and shivering. Rose returned that smile while counting the minutes until Jack would return.

When he did, he brought the doctor straight to bedroom.

"This is my wife, Marion. Marion, this is Dr. Hertz," said Jack as he entered the room. The man following behind him was tall, his shoulders hunched with his age. He looked to be in his sixties and reminded Rose a bit of a cartoon dragon she had seen as a child.

She only managed a shaky nod before turning back to Bea. Her eyes were narrowed with sleepiness, her head turned on its side. She seemed to be looking at something beyond Rose and the sight reminded her with a harsh unforgiving nature of the child's mother only a year and a half before.

"Allow me to look at the child, Madam," said Dr. Hertz softly, hands on her shoulders guiding her away from the bed.

"Not the child - Beatrice, her name is Beatrice!" snapped Rose in protest.

The man nodded and rephrased, "Allow me to examine Beatrice. I promise it won't be long."

"Come, Marion," coaxed Jack. She allowed him to pull her back, swallowing the rising fear in her. She couldn't drag her eyes away from Bea's weak form. How could this be happening to them? They did everything right. They never let her roam too far, never let her eat anything she shouldn't, and always watched over her.

Rose's mental panic came to halt when Jack pulled her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin, against his chest. She closed her eyes and could feel his heartbeat racing against her cheek. He was just as afraid as she was. Possibly more so, because whatever Bea was sick with probably didn't exist by his time. Children probably didn't get sick as easily, and, if they did, they were probably healed in a snap.

She had to be stronger for him. She had helped raise the little girl, but this was Jack's flesh and blood. And he had already lost her mother.

She took a deep breath to try to calm herself and allowed Jack to pull her from the room. They paced outside the door, as the room was too small for them to linger over the man's shoulder. They could hear him asking Bea soft questions and cooing to her when she showed distress.

It was too soon when the doctor emerged from the bedroom. His old face was grave and it immediately broke Rose's heart for what felt like the millionth time in her life. Being supportive for Jack went out the window in that moment. She nearly fell to her knees in the hallway, a cry tearing from her throat.

She had failed. She failed herself, Eliza, and Jack. Most importantly, she failed Beatrice Harkness, who's little light was being blinkered out before it had the chance to truly glow.

Rose pushed past the doctor who was speaking to the restrained Jack, who was possibly dismissing him. She entered Bea's room and looked at the small waif in the bed. Her wispy brown hair was sticking to her fevered skin, her eyes were bleary and narrow.

"Mama," said Bea softly, looking vaguely in Rose's direction. Rose didn't care if she would get sick too. She hastened to climb into bed with the girl, curling around her prone form.

"I'm here, darling. Mama's here," whispered Rose, pressing her lips to her baby's forehead. Whether or not Bea understood, she put her small hand on Rose's chest. She wondered if the girl could feel her heart being destroyed.

Tears slipped from her eyes and she clenched them shut, willing herself to keep it together for the child's sake. She heard the floorboards creak as Jack entered the room but didn't look at him. She couldn't bear to see her despair reflected in his face.

The bed dipped as Jack climbed in on the other side of Bea. Rose felt him curl around the child as well. When she finally opened her eyes in a moment of bravery, she saw exactly what she expected. Over Bea's head, they stared at each other in a shared agony.

As the night went on, they waited for time to take their daughter away. The hours stretched. With every drawn-out minute, they watched Bea's face for any sign of miraculous improvement. They soaked up sweat from her forehead and quieted her occasional cries, whispering promises of showing her the universe.

It was nearly dawn when she left them. Jack screamed and Rose was catatonic, staring at the break of dawn through the frosted window.

Tragedy had become a good friend to Rose Tyler.


	8. The Man Who Never Dies

_June, 1878._

_Boston, Massachusetts._

The city of Boston had an unrivaled air of defiance. It was a city of fighters and rebels, even 100 years after its shining moment of revolution. Tensions between rising numbers of immigrants from Ireland and Italy certainly tainted the atmosphere, construction was constantly moving, and people were quick to start an argument. There were plenty of tough attitudes to go around, but there was a heartiness to it that was admirable. 'Don't tread on me,' indeed.

Rose sat on a bench under the shade of a tree outside the Trinity Church, a large, newly-built, Romanesque structure. It was a bit, well, _beige. _On the outside, at least. She had ventured inside some time before and knew the interiors were all high arching ceilings and color and light. It was beautiful. She thought she might appreciate it more, however, if she was a godly woman. She heard when she was younger that churches could bring peace to the most troubled of people. She couldn't speak to it, having not gone to church as a child. Even after spending a long, silent hour within the Trinity Church, she still couldn't speak to it.

When she began to feel truly out of place, she left and found a spot near the building. It was noisy and it smelled vaguely bad. It felt loads better than trying to find solace in a god she didn't believe in. She found herself thinking of the Estate and sitting with Mum in the living room, talking over tea. She missed her now more than ever. All she craved was a gossipy chat about nothing and a hug that smelled of cheap perfume and hairspray.

In the solitude, Rose had a lot of time to reflect. Naturally, she thought about Eliza and Bea frequently. A woman who had trusted them too easily and her child, who had no choice but to. They had been her angels, as she once called them, swooping in at her hour of need to change her life. Change her life, indeed. Rose wished it had been for the better. She wished her Mum had been there when darkness came for her because she would have known what to do.

The day they buried Eliza had been wet and grey, the way a day should be when you lose happiness in such a way. The day they buried Bea, though, was not rainy or gloomy. Instead, it was bright and deceptively happy, a moment of warmth in the deep of winter. It felt like betrayal.

They lingered in Long Island for some time after that, unable to pull themselves from their grief to make any move in their life. Rose decided for them after two months that they needed to leave. They lost money in paying for the costs of a burial, especially since Jack decided to stop going to work, and the one time she managed to find a ship to take them to England, Jack screwed it up by getting into an argument with the captain. It got them blacklisted in the shipping community in New York.

The next best port to leave from was out of Boston. A direct route to Liverpool and they would be set.

They would be, of course, if Jack was helping in any way at all.

Living with Jack in the past year and a half had been...difficult. He ranged from despondency to outright rage depending on the day. He was short-tempered with everyone and couldn't be bothered to apologize.

Half the time, she didn't know where he was or who he was with. The first couple times he disappeared for days on end, she searched frantically for him throughout the borough before collapsing into panic attacks alone in their house, thinking he had surely died or left her behind. He would return home after some time, belligerent, passing out on the sofa without a word to her. It gave her such a shock she couldn't even manage to yell at him the way she would have done years before.

It happened again and again, even after she forced him to move further up north. For the first few months, she tried her best to be supportive and help him. Never mind her own grief; there was no time for that when her friend was falling apart. She didn't mind. Much. At first.

After their move, Rose began to tire of the routine he was putting her through. Not only did they have to live off her money, since he wouldn't work, but he also hardly said two words to her. They barely spoke these days, except for her talking at him about one thing or another. She didn't dare bring up the Doctor after that first time.

The first time she brought up returning to their hunt for the Doctor, he had slammed his hand on the table and said, in a dark voice, "_Don't."_

Too shocked for words, she stared after him as he left right away. Naturally, she arranged for them to go to England from New York, but he seemed determined to avoid it at all costs. So, here they were, in Boston, not doing a damn thing to get back to their lives.

"You have the look of sorrow about you, child," came a weathered voice. Startled, she looked at the end of the bench where a man was sitting. She hadn't noticed him arrive and, judging by his comfortable lounging, he had been there for some time. He was finely dressed, had a prominent hawk nose, deep set eyes, and wispy white hair.

She imagined he could sense her unease as he was quick to smile and apologize. "My apologies, dear, I did not intend to frighten you."

"Oh, no apologies necessary. I hadn't noticed you. I was a bit lost in my thoughts." Rose gave a forced laugh, playing with her wrap. She swallowed. "Lovely day, yeah?"

He hummed and peered at their surroundings. "Hm. It is damp, there is an unfortunate lack of cloud cover from the sun, and the dust is creating dismal breathing conditions. Lovely? I'd say not. I would appreciate a storm, but I have always been a lover of summer rains. I think I used to enjoy summer more, though I am not sure any longer."

"You're a bit rude," she remarked. She blushed instantly as she realized that was hardly the appropriate thing to say, especially to a man who was clearly of higher status. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

He only smiled. "Quite. It's not often that people remark on my rudeness."

"Well, you strike a fearsome character," she teased.

"No doubt." The man flashed her a grin. His countenance was gentle and coaxing. "What has you lost in your thoughts, as you claim?"

Her eyebrow arched. "Are you usually so worried about the thoughts of ladies on benches?"

"Are you usually so awful at misdirection?" he shot back perceptively.

Rose sighed. Eyes away from him, she admitted, "I was contemplating life. Or death, depending on how you look at it."

"You have lost someone."

His confidence alarmed her. She turned her head to find the gravity and understanding weighing on his demeanor.

"That obvious?" she said wryly.

"Only to those familiar with the feeling."

"Hm, well, yes, I have. I have lost quite a few people. But this one -" She choked on the words. There wasn't a way to describe the impact of this loss. It was beyond the capability of language.

It seemed, however, that words were not necessary. "How old was your child?"

"How'd you-" exclaimed Rose and stopped upon catching the echo of her pain in him. Swallowing hard, she trembled as she spoke. "She was 15 months old. She was learning to talk, got her naming colors. Her favorite's yellow - well, it was."

Bea liked yellow, peas, Jack's shirts, and Rose's hair. She didn't like carrots, snow, or bath time. She loved songs and hated seeing Jack leave in the morning.

She shook herself. "How old was yours then?"

This time it was he who looked away. "Five years. He was my first born. It took only a week. One week and I knew joy no longer."

"It took only two days," Rose told him. "How did you handle it? The - the feeling like nothing was ever going to be alright after that?"

"What one must: move on." He said with a simplicity that she despised. Her discontent felt like a vice on her heart. He expanded, "Do not misunderstand me, it was not easy. My dear Queenie never moved on from it and I could confess that a part of me never did either. The only thing we can do is make the best of who we are and what our destinies are. I threw myself into my writing, as that is my way, attempting to understand the great burden that grief is."

"And? Do you?"

"Yes. No." He contradicted himself, pensive. Gaze far away, he said, "'I grieve that grief can teach me nothing.' 'I grieve that I cannot grieve.'"

Rose fell silent, contemplative. She got the sense that he was quoting himself._ Grief can teach you nothing, I cannot grieve._ Yes, that was quite right. Grief was not enough to make up for such a great loss. Life went on, even if one person didn't. What was to be gained in mourning if her pain was not enough to give her her daughter back?

Abruptly, she asked, "Who are you?"

"Ralph Emerson," he replied with the weight of a man who knew exactly how important he was.

"Oh, my," breathed Rose in amazement. _The _Ralph Waldo Emerson. He had an amused smile. "Sorry, I just have a friend who would be so jealous that I've met you."

The Doctor loved to meet famous human writers and philosophers. There was every chance he had already met Ralph, but she could imagine how envious he would be if he hadn't yet. He'd probably be swooning. The picture brought a smile to her face.

"A friend?" he asked.

Rose could feel heat raise in her cheeks. After everything, the thought of the Doctor still influenced her. It was embarrassingly obvious to an onlooker, such as her new friend.

"Something like that," she replied evasively. She switched topics. "What brings you to Boston then? Or do you live here?"

He, thankfully, allowed the deviation. "I was born here, but I now reside in Concord. I come to the city frequently to give talks. Though, I think my performance today was…less than ideal."

Rose's brow furrowed. She took time to observe what she could about Ralph. He was finely dressed and had a cane rested against the bench on the other side of him. He had ink stains on his hands, his hair was sticking up in the back, and his jacket was buttoned incorrectly. A sinking realization hit her that his life was fading. Something was off, and the brief confusion in his eyes as he looked around him brought her a deep sadness.

"What did you say your name was, dear?" he asked.

She didn't have in her to tell him she had never said her name. "It's Marion Harrison."

"No, no, that's not right," replied Ralph, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed as he considered her.

There was no denying that she was nervous now. Though who, out of the two of them, she was nervous for, she couldn't say. Was it her fear of discovery or watching a man have a 'senior moment'?

Quietly, she asked, "Do you have someone who travels with you, Mr. Emerson?"

"Hm? Oh, yes," he said, smiling, "My Ellen is collecting papers from the college for me. She is good to me."

"Are you happy, sir?" she asked abruptly. Rose was sure she was adding to his confusion now, asking one question after another. She wished she was more familiar with his work so she could turn this into a more productive conversation. But as what she knew was limited to their conversation, she could only continue their earlier topic.

Ralph was clearly startled. "I do not believe that is my purpose in life, Mrs. Harrison. I think happiness is an arbitrary expectation for life. It is not possible to be always happy or even wholly happy. It is, however, possible to be useful and make a difference. Choose to live well, not for happiness. A life well spent is one that strives to be greater."

Rose wasn't sure she could entirely agree with him. Perhaps that was the young girl within her that clung still to the romantic notion of happily ever after. That part of her still believed the Doctor would come sweeping in and change her life to the way it was before. It believed that getting back out there exploring the universe and getting into trouble was the key to peace of mind.

That part of her – so young and naïve – was taking a beating from real life. The other parts of her that were embittered by the tribulations of her life found a chord being struck at Ralph's philosophy of living well. Happiness might not always be there, but life was. Don't let it go to waste because expectations were not met and dreams were crushed.

It was a message she needed. There would come time for self-satisfaction later. She could be useful. She knew things that could change the course of history. Of course, she wasn't foolish enough to change the big things, not after her run-in with the Reapers. But small things could change, and small things could help big things.

"I have to go find my friend. It's time we moved on," declared Rose with more confidence than she truly felt. "Thank you for speaking with me, Ralph Waldo Emerson."

She gave him a Rose Tyler grin as she stood, hoping to convey the sense of hope she had gained from the earlier conversation without the taint of the realization she had. This reminded her too eerily of meeting old Charlie. Was she set to meet famous people as their lives expired? Part of her hoped it would not continue that way, and the other part was honored by the chance to meet such impactful people.

"Before you go, what was her name, Miss? Your daughter," he asked.

Rose took a deep, stabilizing breath and said, "Beatrice. Her name was Beatrice."

* * *

_June, 1878._

_Boston, Massachusetts._

It was easy to choose a new course to set oneself on. It was much harder to get it moving.

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you?" Rose demanded with a hand on her hip. There were men sniggering around her that she paid no mind. The only person who was her concern was the drunken heap in front of her. "Do you?"

The tavern, if it could even be called that, was dark and dingy. The few candles lit throughout the place provided barely enough light for her to take in the dirt and sweat covering the hordes of men within the building. She was the only woman, something made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, even after keeping up with training herself for years. Jack wasn't any help with that. Though, he wasn't much of a help with anything.

Such as now.

He was hunched over the bar counter, cuddling a grimy glass half filled with cheap liquor. He was equally as dirty as everyone else in the bar, and she was trying hard not to breathe through her nose to find out just how disgusting he and everyone else in this pub truly were.

When he didn't answer, she leaned in close, her voice becoming threatening, "You better talk to me, _right now. _I'm tired of this game with you, Harkness."

"Oh, _shuddup, _will you?" he slurred back at her, finally looking at her. He had gone unshaven for what looked to be a week or so, judging by his thickening beard, and his eyes were hazy, even in the dim lighting.

"You don't get to talk to me that way! I've been silent for some time about your nonsense and I'm tired of it," Rose growled. She was, one hundred percent in an arguing mood now. Anger from over a year of silence was spilling out of her.

Jack glared at her. "You don't g-get it! My d-daughter is dead!"

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit him so hard, he'd have a concussion. She wanted to leave him in this pub and go back to England by herself. Most importantly, she wanted to scream in his face that it was her daughter, too! She might not have given birth to Bea, but she was that girl's Mama, and that meant something, goddamnit!

Instead, Rose pressed that urge down and said, "And you think this is the way to go about it? Drink yourself half to death every night, not even telling your wife where you've gone off to?"

He hiccupped and pointed a finger in her face. "You're turning into-into such a _nag, _sweetheart. Don't think the Doc will like that."

Rage rearing its head again, Rose lowered her voice and hissed at him, "Don't bring him into this! He has nothing to do with this!"

He slammed his hand against the counter, voice rising. "He has _everything _to do with this! He left me behind, Rose, and look what came of it! A dead lover, a dead daughter, _and _I get the amazing pleasure of playing husband to a woman he could never be bothered to love properly. Everything about this is his fault."

Rose flinched. In quick succession, Jack threw every painful aspect of her life in her face. Abandonment, dead friends, dead children, and no guarantee that the man she loved returned that feeling at all.

She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath through her nose. Opening her eyes, she hardened herself. Leaning close, she said, "He is not responsible for our lives, Jack. He has no idea that we are here, and he has no idea what we've been going through. He's a Time Lord, not a god. Stop blaming him for things that can't be controlled."

Jack grunted at her in response. He took a drink, seemingly ready to go back to ignoring her. Exhaustion settled onto her like a blanket. What little energy she had for this argument evaporated in the face of noncompliance.

Rose rested a hand on his back. Gently, she said, "I know these past few years have been difficult for you. They have been for me too. There is no amount of grief that we can feel that can adequately -"

To her amazement, his rumbling back stopped her. He was laughing at her. He gave her a condescending look. "You s-sound like a fucking book! Where'd you get this shit?"

She sighed, shaking her head. Commiseration was clearly not going to get them anywhere. He was determined to be bitter and vile.

Switching tracks, she decided to try a new angle. "It's time for us to return to England, Captain. Torchwood will form soon, and we have a chance to use them to our advantage. Get your act together."

"Ooh," he crowed. "Look at you, Commander Tyler!" He gave her a dubious glance. "Drop the act, Rosie. You were only in command for two years and in a world that barely exists. You have no authority over me."

_I'll show you authority, _she thought, her hand raising to slap him silly. When her palm hit the back of his hand, it was hard to say who was the most surprised; her, Jack, or the barkeep who had stopped in front of them.

"Listen," said the greasy man with a rag on his shoulder. "You're gonna have to take the domestics outside -"

"Fuck you," spat Jack. Rose shot him an alarmed look. What the _hell_ was that for?

The barkeep's eyes narrowed, and he threw his rag on the counter. He pointed a finger in Jack's face. "You're done, Harrison! I want you out of my tavern! You've been nothing but trouble since you came here and I'm tired of it. Out!"

"Let's everyone calm down –" she tried to say, trying to grab Jack's arm to keep him by her side and away from doing anything foolish. _Tried _being the key word.

"Yeah, well, _I'm _tired of _you!" _Jack tore away her, standing so suddenly that his stool tipped backwards. Rose attempted to grab at it and ended up being in the face by his elbow. Letting a pained grunt, she clutched at her aching cheek and glared at the back of his head. He paid her no mind. "You call this swill whiskey?! You're a fucking _joke, _Billy! I'm t-_twice _the man you are!"

This felt like a recurring topic in this room. The men around them began jeering and booing at Jack. Rose looked around with growing nervousness. There were so many of them and only one of him. What was he playing at?

"James," she said urgently, she grabbed his arm again, "Let's go. Stop this now!"

"'Cept you're not, are you? You're a pathetic low-life, and considering this crowd, that's saying something!" returned the man, gesturing widely to his patrons who cheered their agreement in a shocking show of low standards.

Jack threw the glass, missing the man widely. As it shattered against the wall behind the bar, the tavern fell silent. Rose's heart stopped.

"Take care of 'im, boys," ordered the barkeep to a group of men loitering by the bar. The sound returned to the room, growing to crescendo as the lot screamed in Jack's face. The group by the bar consisted of five men and they fell on Jack the moment they were ordered to.

Rose was pushed and shoved away from Jack despite her protests and attempts to return to him. She could hear him cursing and threatening people even over the din.

"James! James!" she cried out, trying to get his attention. He either couldn't hear her or didn't care, but she still fought through the crowd.

A hand was on her shoulder. She looked up and saw the barkeep standing over her. He growled at her, "Move it, lass."

The barkeep shuffled her towards the front door while the five men surrounding Jack pulled him out a back door.

"Wait, wait!" she pleaded with the man. "I know he's an arse, but let him go and I'll make sure he never comes back here. Please!"

The man was immovable, continuing to push out. "It's only a beating, girl. He's had it coming and he'll be fine. Now, stay out! We don't want women in here."

Out on the street, Rose tried to push back in. He gave her an unimpressed look as he restrained her insistent hands and pushed back hard. Unprepared, she went stumbling back, her back hitting a carriage that was stationary, leaving bruises that she would have to deal with tomorrow.

Before she could gain her footing to go back in, the door was slammed shut in front of her.

Then she heard people fighting. Men were jeering, followed by the sound of flesh getting hit again and again, another man grunting with pain. Heart racing fast, Rose followed the noise around the building to an alleyway that was lit only by a gas lamp from another building and the street lights pouring in. There, under that light spot, was Jack being restrained by two men, while the other three wailed on him.

Rose rushed down the alley, her bonnet falling from her head and her wrap sliding onto the ground from where it had been hanging loosely around one elbow.

"What has he done to you?" she demanded.

"What hasn't he done more like," said a burly man with a snort. He pushed Rose backed when she tried to reach past him to grab Jack's arm. "No, no, girlie! You stay out of this. He's been beggin' for a beatin' for months, it's time we have it to him."

"No! Stop!" she ordered. She charged into the crowd and attempted to strongarm her way to Jack. She managed to grab onto a scrawnier man and pull him back, the force sending him stumbling onto the stones behind her. He got up faster than Rose would have expected because when she reached for the other man hitting Jack, he had grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Fight back, you bastard," screamed Rose at Jack as she was pulled away. She didn't know if he heard her and she might have imagined the sound of him struggling, she was too busy with her own assailant. He was trying hard to pull her arms behind her back, but she was stronger than her could have been ready for.

"Need help, Rob? Didn't think pinning down a little girl was hard work for you," laughed one of the men.

"Shuddup, she's strong!" shouted skinny. She elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to bend at the waist, gasping. She went to kick him when an arm went around her middle and pulled her flush against someone's body.

The man went to say something in her ear, but the feeling of his vile, hot breath made her react before he could speak. She kicked backwards, landing her foot on his knee. When that wasn't enough, she kicked again, landing close to his crotch. With a curse, he let her go.

Her hair was in her face and she was coated in a thin layer of sweat. She rushed towards Jack again, sucking in short, frantic breaths in her panic. Two sets of arms pulled her back this time, her struggling all the while as they dragged her backwards.

Faster than Rose could follow, someone had pulled a knife into the fight. The man in question plunged the knife into Jack's stomach. At the sight of his blood, she screamed. She kicked against her assailants and yelled out as the men stabbed Jack again and again. She fought harder than before, willing to cause serious harm to save his life.

She supposed the aggressor had had his fill because he finally backed up and dropped the knife. He admired his handy-work for a moment more when one of his friends said, "Looks like he won't be a problem no more!"

At the sight of Jack suspended between two of the men, head hanging low over his chest, knees bent under him, Rose stopped moving. He looked dead. But he couldn't be. Not her Jack.

They dropped him, laughing. He collapsed into a heap, slowly rolling onto his side. She had to hold back bile from the sight.

"What about her?" asked the man who still had a firm grip on her arm. They gave her filthy looks.

Rose's fight came back to her and she punched him in the face, shattering his nose. Before they could grab her again, she lunged for the knife. She knew that if they so decided, they would try to assault her and kill her. She would be damned if she was going to let that happen.

"You come near me," she growled, heart racing, "and I _will_ kill every one of you!"

Her legs were spaced in a fighting stance and she had the knife tightly grasped in her hand while the other fisted. She should be surprised at hearing herself threaten to kill someone, or multiple someones in this case. Instead, she felt nothing but the urge for revenge, which she was hardly able to restrain.

"Crazy bitch!" cried one of the men, spitting towards her. He was lucky it didn't hit her.

Rose gave a false lunge towards them, stabbing wildly. All five of them scattered backwards, tripping over themselves, yelling obscenities at her.

"I'll show you crazy," she vowed, rushing at them. She slashed a skinny on the arm, causing him to cry out.

"C'mon," shouted a heavier set man, pulling his bleeding friend away from her. She lunged at him, too, causing him to howl when she sliced his shoulder. She was careful to avoid going too deep, despite the urge to hurt them.

Bending down, she grabbed a stone from the ground and threw it at the one who's nose she broke. He ducked and scrambled away, clutching his bloody face. She grabbed another stone and was ready to throw it when they stumbled their way to the entrance of the alley way. One looked back at her while they did so, and she threw the stone at him immediately.

"Stupid whore!" they yelled, funneling out onto the street.

When she was sure they were gone, she hurried over to Jack's prone form. She dropped the knife as she slid to her knees, panic building. Grabbing his shoulder, she rolled him onto his back. Even in the dark alley, the sight was gruesome.

"No, Jack, _please!"_ she begged. She leaned over him and pressed her hands into his wounds. There were too many of them and the blood was pouring past her fingers. Desperation grew within her. "Please! You can't leave me, you can't!"

Jack gurgled at her. Through her tears, she made out his face, stretched taut with pain. Blood was coming up through his mouth.

"Oh my god, oh my god," she said as the panic built. This was really happening. He was going to die. She put more pressure on his wounds. He gasped, the sound thick with moisture.

"R-r-" he tried.

She shook her head. "Don't try to talk, just stay with me. C'mon, you can do this!"

Her pleas were going more desperate. She didn't know what to do.

"Someone help!" She cried out. Two figures stopped at the end of the alley, but quickly moved on. They weren't going to help. No one was.

When she looked down again, Jack wasn't moving anymore. She screamed again, pressing her fingers frantically against his throat.

Her breath was coming in short pants, "C'mon, c'mon, you're still here. You have to be! You-"

There was no pulse.

She froze, simply staring at him. Jack's bright eyes were glassy, fixed on the night sky above them. The blood had stopped pumping and now gently spilling from on top of his body into the stones beneath him.

"No," she said again. She punched his chest again and again, saying, "No! No! No!"

The dam broke. Rose sobbed uncontrollably. For the arsehole he had been in the previous year and a half, here lay the man who was all she had left in the universe. After so much death, how could she go on? No family, no friends, no Doctor. What was the point?

The misery she had been containing over the past three years swept over her like a tidal wave. Before, she had to be strong for Jack. Without him here, she couldn't manage it. There was nothing to keep her from falling apart. She was alone once more.

Then, suddenly, the unimaginable happened.

Jack surged up with a gasp, eyes wide, and hand grasping at his chest over his heart. A small scream escaped Rose and she scurried back from him.

He was _dead. _No pulse, no breath - stone, cold dead. She wasn't so green she didn't know what a dead body felt like. And now, he was alive again.

Rose and Jack stared at each other in abject horror. She couldn't fathom what he was thinking, but she thought he might have come to the same realization as her. She had questioned, once, how he had survived the Daleks. Here was the answer.

He hadn't.


	9. The Woman Who Always Lives

_April, 1879._

_Boston, Massachusetts._

Rose was shivering under her layers, shifting from one foot to another. The wind off the waters made what could have been a nice day into a bitter one. She was fighting to keep the hard-set scowl off her face as she stared at the backs of the heads in front of her.

Jack, sensing her unease, rubbed her back. "Calm down. We'll be on the ship before you know it and we can hide from the breeze below deck."

"It's not that," she denied. It was partially that. She bit her lip and leaned into him, enjoying the small amount of shared warmth. "It's just - I didn't really enjoy the last trips we made on a ship and I've got a bad feeling about this one."

Her discomfort with it surprised her, considering how, objectively, sailing was the least risky thing she had done so far. Give her airplanes and spaceships any day over a sea ship.

"I'd be a little more worried about the welcome we could receive in England."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like they're going to be sitting at the docks looking for me. And I don't exactly look the same, if they were."

"Tetchy," he commented lightly.

Rose couldn't bring herself to be too apologetic about it. Layering her unease about boarding the ship was the image in her mind of her younger, blonde self that was currently on Earth with the Doctor. "Hundreds of miles away from here, there's a 20-year-old me running around and playing a hand in creating my own downfall. Saying I'm in a bad place right now would be an understatement."

Now she was in her 30s. She didn't know how to feel about that. This wasn't anything like how she imagined her life would be and the desperation that she often felt when she thought about it fought to claw up through her chest.

"Listen, I know this is really last minute, but are you sure you want to go anywhere near Torchwood?" asked Jack.

She sighed. "Torchwood will grow to have access to information that we could really use. Instead of hunting for clues like morons, we could be in the know from the very beginning."

This was stuff that he knew. Why he insisted on questioning her about it, she couldn't understand. Turning to face him, she observed her nervousness reflected in him. He wasn't as blatant as she was, but she could see his fingers fiddling with the top to his flask.

"What's got you so worked up anyway? It's not like they can kill you," she said, lowering her voice at the end. When they discovered Jack's _affliction, _they had walked in silence back to the flat they had rented.

It was confusing and scary. Admittedly, it was useful, too. That didn't mean he was off the hook for his boorish, destructive behavior. She made it clear that if he put her through that ever again, she would make him pay. She wasn't sure how yet, but she'd figure it out.

Jack took her at her word. His death seemed to be a wakeup call for him. His first words after he was cleaned up that night were, "_I can't even die right._"

It was a horrifying signal of the suicidal tendencies he had been clearly displaying for the preceding years. It scared her, but she understood. She could feel the echoes of those emotions within herself from when she was first locked in the parallel world, from when she was put back in the proper universe, and from a year and a half of drowning in her grief silently.

Without judgement, Rose sat with him through the rest of the night as the remainder of his guilt, grief, and misery came pouring out in gut-wrenching sobs. They were long hours, and by the end of it, the Jack she knew emerged again, determined to not make waste of his life if he was going to be forced to live it. The small fear she held that he would go back to the bottom of a bottle in dingy bars died.

When they were calmed, the flood gates opened and there were millions of questions they both had. What was that? Could he ever die? What were the limits? Did it mean he was immortal?

There was no way of knowing without testing it, not without tools from much more advanced civilizations. And Rose refused to allow him to try.

"Maybe not me, but you?" said Jack, looking at her with the old intense protectiveness he had in their early days, before the Game Station.

The line started moving. Rose gave him a grin, assuring him, "I'm not so easy to kill, Captain. Have faith."

He returned her grin with a scowl, grumbling as he picked up their bags. "Those are cursed words if I ever heard them."

* * *

_April, 1879._

_Atlantic Ocean._

Jack's life was a long series of discovering new things about himself in big ways. He found out he was a fighter when his father and brother were killed in an attack on his home planet. He found out he was a conman when he was betrayed by the Time Agency. He found out he was a good man when Rose and the Doctor took him into their home and gave him a chance. He found out he was patient as he worked with Rose to find their way home. He found he couldn't die in a bar fight in 19th century America.

Today, he was finding out that he hated ships. Loathed them. The water ones, though, not air and space. Those were still and always would be amazing. Water ships could go fuck themselves, thank you very much.

They had been aboard _S.S. Hellship _(which Rose reminded him was called the _Etain) _for four days. He was sick of it.

It wasn't that he didn't have experience on a ship. He had more than enough. Even if he had stolen the name Captain Jack Harkness, he had enough experience to qualify as a Captain without it.

If he was being fair, and he was trying to be, it wasn't the fault of the ship. She was as standard as any other steamship of the era. He had insisted on getting second class tickets at the very least, putting them in an acceptable stateroom. Not that either of them would complain. It was better than steerage, and he refused to let Rose live like that.

Despite decent quarters for the duration of the ship, it was hard to enjoy it when one thought about the hundreds of people in steerage that were getting sick and even dying while the rest of them enjoyed lounges and fine dining. And this was coming from him, the king of having a good time.

Four days of lounging around, meeting new people, and venturing down to steerage to meet decent people. For a pair of people used to running around, fighting, or working, sitting idly in the belly of a ship playing _cards _was hardly their idea of comfort. They were bored out of their minds, trying hard not to admit to it lest it become worse.

Today was a little different though. The previous three days had been cold, boring, and stuffy. But today, the ship was rocking back and forth dangerously as a storm gave them a lashing. It was bound to happen, and it would surely pass soon, yet the shaking was making all the passengers uneasy, including them. He and Rose were no strangers to dangerous traveling, having led the lives they had for so long. Their distaste for traveling by sea, however, made them forget this history for favor of cringing through the rocking of the ship.

This evening storm found them in the lounge, seated at a table intended for six people. Earlier, they had been attempting to enjoy some games and food with some fellow passengers, whose names were as forgettable as they were themselves. Rose probably remembered their names. She was good at that sort of thing. If he cared, he could be too.

He didn't. Eventually, they had excused themselves to retire for the night as the storm worsened, leaving him and Rose to their own devices.

The ship jolted in a way that turned Jack's stomach. He and Rose clutched the edge of the table. He watched her press her lips together and close her eyes. He was surprised she hadn't gotten sick yet, as she had frequently on their trip to Spain. They should have stayed in Europe then. It would have saved them a lot of trouble.

His stomach turned again, though not at the fault of the ship this time. He grit his teeth and fought back the images of Eliza's and Bea's faces. Their incredible, soft faces that were not at all made for the kind of life he led.

"You okay?" he asked her, if only to distract himself. She gave a short nod. "Couple more days and we'll be back on land."

Rose didn't respond. So much for a distraction.

Sometimes he wondered about how much she had changed since he met her in front of Big Ben. She was still brilliant, beautiful, and loving. She had a smile that could light up a planet and her eyes always seemed to look right into him like she knew everything without a word being said. But the years had taken their toll on the innocence and joy she held.

There were times that her expression bore a desolation that made his eyes water. Someone like her should never feel so low, in his opinion. Maybe he idolized her a bit. She wasn't perfect by any means, but she was the most amazing person to have ever lived. Nothing could change his mind on the matter either.

"I think I'd make a good pirate," he blurted. He hated the way his thoughts were turning. Negativity was a disease.

Rose opened her eyes to furrow her brow in his direction. "What're you on about?"

Jack gestured to his handsome face. "I'd make a good pirate. One you could make movies about. Captain Jack Harkness, swashbuckling hero."

"'Hero' and 'pirate' don't exactly belong in the same sentence," she said, relaxing a bit. "Besides, it sounds less like you want to be a film and more in a porno."

He gasped and held a hand to his chest. "Well, I never! My dear Rose Tyler, you have offended my sensibilities. A soul as innocent and pure as I -" He ignored her snort. "-would never partake in something so unseemly!" He allowed a dramatic pause, then added. "An erotic film, however…"

She laughed and he was proud of himself. Still grinning, she appraised him. "How many have you been in?"

With a wide grin, he proudly stated, "Eight."

"That's less than I thought, actually."

"So, you've thought about me in erotic films, have you?" he asked with a leer.

"Of course," she returned, with a lewdness to match his own. Leaning in, she lowered her voice, eyes glittering. "Oh, the fantasies I've had of the handsome rogue, Captain Jack Harkness, coming to have his wicked way with me!"

Rose fluttered her eyelashes and released a breathy moan to follow. Jack loved when she got flirtatious. It allowed him to indulge, if only for a short while, in his long-standing fantasy of her wanting him. She didn't, of course. She held that candle for only one person, but it was fun to dream anyway.

If only he could get the Doctor and Rose together at long last, and then bring him into their relationship. That was the fantasy to end all fantasies.

He opened his mouth to continue their session when the door they were seated nearby slammed open. The thud of the wood brought an abrupt silence to the room. He tensed in preparation of a fight, and saw Rose do the same out of the corner of his eye.

The man who stood in the doorway was soaked to the bone. The ends of his shirt were pulled from his trousers and his braces hung at his sides. He stepped slowly into the room in a manner that was not unlike a man approaching a wild beast.

Jack recognized him as he stepped further into the light as Phillip More. He was one of the folks he had met on his excursions to steerage. Funny guy with a full-bellied laugh - someone he would not be opposed to having a roll in the sack with. He'd have to try for that later.

"You have some kind of nerve -" started a mustached man by the billiards table.

Jack rose from his seat, cutting him off with a raised hand and a stern look. "Now, now, none of that. Clearly the gentleman needs help if he's breaking social protocol to come here."

Thankfully, the man conceded. The other men in the room nodded and murmured their agreement, all in varying states of rising to the occasion.

"What's going on up there, fella?" he asked of Phillip. He was a man of the lower class, which made him exactly the kind of person he and Rose preferred to spend time with. It also made him incredibly unwelcome in the lounge. But Jack was nothing if not capable of bridging the differences between them all.

Phillip looked relieved to see him. Addressing Jack directly, he said, "They're having trouble above deck. Nothing to get too worried about!" He said hurriedly when anxious murmurings broke out amongst the men and women hanging onto his word. "But they need hands if anyone's willing. We've got some able bodies from steerage but there ain't that many of us."

A few men muttered in distaste, but the ones that immediately said 'aye' inspired a willingness in the rest of them.

Jack took charge, as he was wont to do. He faced the lounge and picked from the men. "Samson, Schmidt, Becker, and Clermont – with me! The rest of you remain at the ready if you're needed."

He was glad he was able to remember those names. It would have been poor taste to point and say, 'you,' to each man he was asking to risk their life.

Jack's ability to command had each of the men putting out their cigarettes, discarding their coats, placing down their cards, and prepping to join the effort. Second class men weren't too far off from steerage, much as they like their posturing, and not many of them were above doing their 'manly' duty.

Some ladies in the room looked uneasy. The rocking of the ship and the desperate need for more men to essentially sacrifice themselves did not ensure the vision of safety.

"Ladies," said Jack, stepping forward to placate the lot. "Rest assured, before you know it, we'll all have returned to our gambling and the only unsteadiness will come from a few rounds of drinks!"

His words and grin roused a few giggles or rolling eyes. He succeeded in removing at least some of their worry.

"Tell me, Phil, how bad is it really?" he asked in a low voice.

Phillip gave him a dark look. "Sailors are dying, mate. We're in for a long night."

Jack nodded. He felt the weight of those deaths and the ones to come settle on him. Lost lives were nothing short of a tragedy when those lives were fighting valiantly to keep people safe.

"Rose, stay down here," he said while pulling off his coat.

As defiant as ever, she snapped, "Like hell I will!"

At most other times, he strongly admired her fire and willingness to help. In this circumstance, he wished she would have some level of self-preservation.

"No," he said, firmly. He caught her eye to ensure she understood how serious he was. "Up on that deck are dozens of men who are well trained in handling a ship in a storm, and _they're _dying. How exactly do you plan to be a help when you can't walk five steps on a ship without getting sick?"

She flushed and he almost felt bad. Almost.

He didn't give her a chance to argue, leaning in close to say, "It's not as much of a risk for me to go up there. I'm sure the storm will pass before long and I'll back down here. Please, please stay! And keep the rest of this lot calm, if you can."

They locked eyes. In his mind, he was pleading with her to do this one thing for him, to stay where he could be sure she was safe. She was undoubtedly capable of taking care of herself. However, he couldn't risk splitting his focus between her and everything else. If she were there, he would have to.

Finally, she nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief and thanked whatever controlled the universe that she was listening to him.

And simply because he couldn't resist, he gave her his most delicious smirk. "And when I get back, I can give you all the juicy details of those films I was in."

She rolled her eyes as she settled back into the seat, muttering something about 'juicy' that he couldn't make out. He liked to think she was saying something positive.

"Lead the way, sir," he said to Phillip. Jack and a few men who were decent enough to volunteer followed the man out into the hall. The lighting was dim and yellow, flickering with the movements of the ship.

Samson, a tall fellow with a sharp nose, pushed to the front. Getting Phillip's attention, he asked, "Do they need any help in the engine room?"

That was a valid question. Ocean liners had only become popular in recent years due to the advancements made on the types of engines and propellers used on ships. While the _Etain _functioned as a modern steamship with a compound engine and the like, it was still rigged with sails that were used throughout the trip. While the focus on the sails was understandable, there was also an engine to worry about.

Phillip looked unsure. "I don't know nothing about that. Some men went down there ages ago, you're welcome to go see how they're doing."

"Samson and Clermont, go down to the where the engines and boilers and help if needed. If not, come up and lend a hand," ordered Jack, picking the weaker looking of the men. Clermont scowled. Before he could open his mouth, Jack snapped, "Go!"

With the other men, he led the way to the door that would take them upstairs to where they could access the deck.

"Have they batten down the hatches yet?" asked Jack as he and Phillip jogged alongside each other.

"The order went out for it when I came to grab some more bodies," he replied.

Jack pushed open the door to the stairs leading to the deck. The resistance on the action surprised him until he saw the water flowing down the steps, bringing debris with it. Along with the water came the flood of noise from up above. The previously muffled shouting became deafening mixed with the rain and claps of thunder.

He broke into action, launching himself up the stairs and screaming at the men behind him for them to follow. Lightning crackled above them as he rose to the nightmare scene happening. Men were running to and fro, following the incomprehensible orders shouted into the wind.

Putting himself into the mix, he grabbed ropes and helped pull storm sails up and into place. It felt like hours of pulling, heaving, tying, and stumbling, but it was likely only minutes that had passed.

Over the roar of the waves, he heard a feminine scream. He looked around the deck frantically, trying to see what woman was in danger through the heavy downpour. His heart stopped when he saw who it was.

Rose was clinging to the rail of the ship. What on _Boeshane _was she doing above deck?

The next wave hit the ship hard, tipping it at a dangerous angle. Jack latched onto the wiry ropes from the masts. He lost his footing quickly, getting thrown to the deck. He kept his hold firm and looked up to where Rose had been standing.

She was gone.

* * *

_April, 1879._

_Atlantic Ocean._

It was stupid of her to come above deck. Beyond stupid. She didn't know what had gotten into her when she decided to follow Jack. She had next to no experience on a ship and it immediately showed.

In the split second between going overboard and her body being swallowed by the icy waves, she managed to form one thought. Granted that one thought was along the lines of, _oh, FUCK! _But it was something, at least.

Then the shock of the water hit her. It was the kind of cold that would take a few years in the tropics to fully shake off.

After that, the only thing she could manage was less of actual words and more of images of everything she was feeling. Like a projection on a screen, she could see herself sinking into the black depths of the sea, the weight of her skirts pulling her down. It was beautiful, it was haunting, and it was something she could have lived happily without seeing.

She told herself to get the dress off and watched as she struggled to do exactly that. She was glad she wasn't wearing a bustle or a corset, leaving her only the top two layers of a dress and a petticoat to remove before she could be left in her combinations.

The loss of the weight was relieving, but the burning in her lungs was building. She felt herself come back to her body as the pain increased. Her eyes were wide open, and they saw nothing. Every direction was as black as night.

Rose rationalized that she couldn't be close to the surface because she wasn't being whipped back and forth with the waves. This, of course, was no comfort. She had to pick a direction to go with, and fast!

The building pressure in her head had her convinced it was going to explode any second. She didn't know how long she could hold her breath for.

_Air_! She needed air. But which direction was it? Where was up? Why can't she tell?

_Don't breathe in, _she commanded her body. She fought the water, slicing her arms above her and then to her sides to push herself up. The pressure intensified and she wasn't sure she was going up anymore.

The temptation to breathe won out in the end. Her mouth opened only a little and seawater flooded into her lungs.

She might have tried to scream, if she could. There were voices screaming in her ears, the sound getting louder as her vision blackening and the fight left her body. They were calling out for her, some were telling her to submit, others telling her to fight.

Rose was sure she didn't close her eyes, but it felt like she did. The world was completely black to her and she couldn't feel a thing.

Until she did again.

Her eyes opened to something indescribable. At some point, the world exploded into light and color beyond anything she could imagine.

There were names and faces flashing in front of her face. One after another after another. There was so many of them. Where were they? Where did they come from? Why were they so sad?

She was falling and she couldn't grasp onto anything. How long had she been falling for? Where was the bottom?

_Don't look down. Don't look down. _Rose risked looking down. Something turned. Her stomach. She didn't have one of those, but it turned.

She was upside down again. Or right side up and everything else was upside down? It shouldn't be this hard to figure it out. She couldn't wrap her mind around what she was feeling. She was being pulled in every direction and then being shoved away again. She was a pinball, and this was a pinball machine.

_Who the hell is running this? _She wanted to know. Speak to a supervisor, maybe. That's what her mum would do.

What's mum? Pale yellow hair, big blue eyes, too much make-up. Right, that's a mum. Her mum. She had a mum? Where was she?

The question filled her with pain. The answer wasn't one she liked.

The colors swirling around her turned red. As soon as she decided she didn't like that, they turned blue. Could she control this? What was this?

She held her hand in front of her face, focusing her blurry gaze on it. And promptly, screamed. It wasn't a hand. It was - What was it? A paw? A swirl of golden lines?

She jerked away from the sight. Something shouted at her. It wasn't the right thing to do and now everything around her was spinning worse than before. There were colors she didn't have a name for in her eyes.

_Bad Wolf! _A commanding voice growled at her. The sound made her jerk again. This time the lights swirled into blackness.

Rose's body jolted and she curled onto her side, onto something that felt comfortingly solid. She was coughing up enough water to fill a mini pool. Everything hurt, from her lungs to her eyes.

"Rose?!" she heard a voice exclaim. There were hands under her arms pulling her into a sitting position, helping her to clear her lungs.

When she was finally done spitting up water, she was allowed one moment of pant-filled peace before reality hit her. She had drowned. Not sort of drowned, not almost drowned - completely drowned. And now she was back on the ship and Jack was rubbing her back. She had been dead. She was sure of it. Then how -

With the train of thought, her stomach decided to empty itself after her lungs. Her entire body shook from getting sick and from the harrowing realization that she had _died_.

"I, for one, think this answers _so many _questions," declared Jack as she trembled against the wood palette.

Rose, shaken to her core, could not have disagreed more.


	10. In Her Majesty's Service

_September, 1883._

_Windsor, England._

The temperature was beginning to drop in a way that made it bearable to be outdoors in the required layers of the time for lengthy periods. The leaves weren't quite changing, yet there was a distinct feeling of autumn in the air.

This day found Rose and Jack seated together on a park bench near Windsor Castle. They were as close as they could get to the castle with their lack of status. To all appearances, they looked like a blissful, young couple soaking in the peace of a beautiful day. This was, of course, a façade. Behind benign smiles and occasional laughter, they were two wolves waiting for the wind to change.

Naturally, not all parts of their show were perfect. Jack was well-dressed. Too well-dressed, in her opinion. She might be still learning from him in the arts of conning, but the combination of his handsome face and his clothing garnered him many appreciative looks from passersby – both male and female. Normally, this was easy to ignore. Right now, however, it made Rose shake with impatience at the exposure.

"Would it be at all possible for you to quiet your face?" she grumbled, shooting a glare at a gaggle of women's backs as they rushed away giggling over the wink Jack sent them.

He shot her a sly grin. "Jealous, Rosie?"

"You certainly wish I was," she sighed. "I don't like people looking at us. How in god's name you ever managed to be a Time Agent escapes me entirely."

With a shrug, he said, "Subtlety has many forms. Sometimes being noticeable is a good thing. Besides, I can't exactly hide a face like this, now can I?"

Rose have her friend a critical glance, rolling her eyes at his smarmy smirk. He chuckled before lowering his voice.

"We can't just walk in to this place, so how are we getting in?"

She sighed. This was the third time they had this exact conversation. "We don't have to. Joe said the Queen goes on carriage rides by this path. We need to make her see me."

"According to a homeless man who eats rodents?" At Rose's unappreciative look, he rolled his eyes. Crossing his arms, he stated, "We'll be arrested."

With a snort, Rose said, "Since when has that bothered us? She'll want to talk to me. Getting arrested might be what we need."

Or at least that's what she hoped.

"Or she'll throw in the Tower. Or, even better, she'll have us killed in front of everyone and then we can send the entire empire into a panic when we come back to life before their eyes. I wonder if we can survive being burned for witchcraft," he pondered sardonically. Then he added darkly, "_If _we survive."

"They don't do that anymore," she said with a huff. "Since when are you such a nervous wreck?"

Jack raised his hands defensively. "I'm not nervous! I think not dying has made you a little cocky though." He looked closely at her and then away again, paying attention to those around them. "What changed? We got here and we've been all about discretion."

He was right. They had been all about discretion. It took little time after arriving in England for their dreams of going home to dwindle down. When few chances to get back to their old life were presented to them, they took a route that was becoming achingly familiar. They remained in the shadows, wary of wandering too close to the wrong people who might recognize Rose.

She was more of a shut-in than Jack was, which worked in their favor. It wasn't like her to be antisocial, but since their trip on the _Etain, _Rose couldn't shake off the deep-seated coldness within her. Being around people only succeeded in making her feel exhausted and listless.

Discretion was only getting them so far, however. They were wary of approaching Torchwood directly. It took little time to find their bases in London and Cardiff, and they suspected that the third was in Glasgow. They dare not risk running into Lady Isobel MacLeish with a trip to Scotland to confirm. Torchwood was in its infancy and from observation, there was little they had been involved in so far beyond setting up base. The organization was in over its head for the time being.

Years of observing this has tired Rose of playing hide and seek. She had questions about Torchwood and how it ended up the way she knew it to be in the 21st century. The recent suspicious activity in Perivale was the push she needed.

"Something came after the Queen. Now would be a perfect time to get access to Torchwood. I want the royals on our side. They created this mess and they should know it."

Jack stiffened and grabbed her knee. "You can't undo Canary Wharf, Rose."

"I have no intention of doing so," she snapped. She needed no reminder of what happened when she tried to rewrite time. One run-in with the Reapers was enough to last a lifetime. Or a few. "What happens has to happen, there's no way around it anymore."

It had taken a long time for Rose to accept her circumstances and what put her here. Her younger self would have rebelled against it, against not trying to change it. That version of herself nearly ripped the universe apart trying to save her father. Decades and many unfortunate experiences later, she knew better. She had no understanding of time, not really. But she did understand that some things had to happen for other things to happen. She needed to be lost to this universe and return at the time she did. She didn't know why or what lie in wait for her in the future, but it could be undone. Not anymore.

What she didn't want to admit to Jack was that she was scared. They had been at this for years and they were getting nowhere. They had worked and toiled under extreme circumstances, live in abject poverty, watched friends and family die, and died themselves. If death wasn't enough, what came after was doubly confusing. Where Jack experienced death in one way, she experienced it another. Where he came back to his body healed and the same as it was before, she came back to changes. It was a few months after he death that she noticed she wasn't menstruating anymore. Like with the emptiness she felt, she didn't want to tell Jack. But eventually he noticed that she was no longer washing cloth pads. It added more questions to their already long list.

Could they keep dying and coming back? What were the limits? Did they stop aging entirely? Why did they die differently? Would Rose continue to lose more of herself if she died again? A conversation about it spiraled every time until one of them suggested a drink or two to get their minds off it.

More recently, she began to feel like none of it mattered. Like nothing mattered. Whatever the universe intended for her, it was clearly a path of suffering. Not even death was an escape anymore.

Just for the sake of distracting herself, she tossed out one of her observations from years ago. "They didn't know my name."

At his confused look, she explained, "In 2007, they referred to me as his companion, because he always travelled with companions. But they didn't know who I specifically was. Now I know the Doctor's presence tends to overshadow everyone else's but Torchwood was created because of both of us. They had no real way of knowing which of us presented _more _of a danger to them. Dame Rose Tyler and Sir Doctor, who consorted with stars and magic and brought death to Her Majesty's shores.

"Then I tried to think about logically. I mean, there's been too many Rose Tyler's between 1869 and 2007. If they investigated every Rose Tyler, they'd've exhausted themselves. Then I thought, well the Doctor's had loads of companions of his years of travels. Maybe from that they realized that the Doctor is really the one in charge. But that made me think, the Doctor's been to Earth a lot in the past couple hundred years. Especially England. And he's not quiet about it either. Why wait so long to go after him? In the hundred odd years of Torchwood being around, why wait so long to finally grab him in the middle of an alien incident?"

Jack nodded along with her spiel, maintaining an appearance of listening to a light tale. When she stopped speaking, worried she wasn't making sense, he blew air from his cheeks.

"I've had similar thoughts," he confessed.

Rose bit her lip. "What if we're the ones who keep them from grabbing him? Misdirect them, feed them lies, make them lose track of him until the time is right?"

Looking far from relieved, he asked, "Are you thinking we'll be here until the 21st century?"

"God, I hope not!" breathed Rose, a sinking feeling fighting the relief at not sounding crazy. "No, I was thinking we would just do that now while using their resources to get where we want to go and then ask UNIT to distract Torchwood. He has friends there, they can help."

Jack was silent for a bit, a furrow in his brow beginning to appear. She was nervous that he might not like her plan. She wasn't happy about it either, but she couldn't bear to sit around anymore, always finding out about extra-terrestrial events after they've already happened.

"I can see them. Come on," sighed Jack, rising to his feet. He pulled her with him, tucking her hand in his elbow.

Rose smiled at him as they walked along the path towards the approaching horses and carriages. Fuss and moan as he might, Jack loved danger.

* * *

_September, 1883._

_London, England._

This was a risky gamble. Rose knew that, Jack knew that. Not only did Victoria loathe Rose, she was only months into recovery from a bad fall in the castle and the loss of her dear friend, John Brown. A grieving, ailing woman with a penchant for selfish outbursts practically spelled disaster for them, as Jack was so keen to point out.

Despite her emotional instability, Rose believed this woman capable of holding steady in the face of the unknown. She might reject it or even deny it, but she came around on the Lupine Wavelength Haemovariform and she would have to come around to this. Whether she liked it or not, this _was _her world. She made a decision that was going to affect her queendom for centuries to come, and she should know that.

Rose kept her head high as she and Jack walked head-on up to the Queen's entourage. It was bold. Scandalous, even. To bar the path of the Queen on her excursion was most likely a jailable offense.

For a casual ride in the park, the Queen had two carriages back to back with two men before them and after them as security. It was said that she never travelled in the same carriage order twice to throw off any chance of detecting where she was. It seemed tame for a woman who survived many assassination attempts over the years, but Rose couldn't be bothered to question the thought process behind. The man at the forefront of the procession were growing visibly agitated as they continued their approach.

"Make way for her Majesty, Queen Victoria!" the squatter of the two commanded when there was but a few meters between them.

Jack responded with a jaunty wave, both displaying his cheekiness and making sure his hands were visible the entire time. It wouldn't do for the guards to shoot at them preemptively.

"He said make way," growled the second man, his hand hovering threateningly over his gun. Voices were murmuring in shock off to the side as the procession slowed to a halt with Rose and Jack blocked the path.

"Don't mind us, just here to see the Queen. We're old friends, you see," Rose called up to the men. She made her way past the men, ducking one as he jumped down from his horse to grab her. She placed herself in full view of the window to the carriage, ignoring the commanding tone behind her.

A few pale faces appeared in the window, but none of them the Queen. Rose shot them a strained smile before quickly walking to the next one, dancing out of reach of the guard as she went. Placing herself in front of the next carriage, she called out to her monarch.

The aged face of Queen Victoria appeared in the window. It quickly lost what little color it had when her eyes widened. The door was thrown open from the inside, a squawking noise from another passenger within bursting forth.

"I understand it has been some time, Your Majesty, but surely you remember Rose Tyler?" asked Jack jovially.

"You!" cried the Queen, pointing a finger at Rose. Her lack of composure was expected but disappointing all the same.

Rose remained neutral; a vague smile and hands raising at the sight of rifles rising in her direction. "Me."

"Ma'am?" questioned the man hovering at her shoulder. She dare not look back, though she suspected Jack had already been grabbed by the other soldier.

Victoria ignored her men, stepping shakily down from the carriage, face blistering in anger. "I banished you! Never to return, is what I said!"

"I think you'll want to hear what I have to tell you," replied Rose, meeting Victoria's glare head-on.

The other woman huffed and hobbled forward. Her men warily lingered, inching closer to protect their monarch. The aging face of another woman leaned out around the edge of the carriage door, watching with wide, excited eyes. Never a dull day in the Victorian Era, Rose supposed.

"Was banishment not expressly clear to you, Dame Rose? Your words are of no concern to me," the Queen snapped. She paused as she took notice of Jack fully for the first time. "Who is this man? Where is your Doctor?"

It was funny how time did little to soften the blow that came when asked where the Doctor was. It managed to take her breath away even now.

"Gone," rasped Rose. She wallowed hard and steadied her hands by clasping them together. "The Doctor is gone. This is Captain Jack Harkness."

Jack bowed and greeted the Queen with a soft, "Your Majesty."

Victoria's eyes flicked over him once more before focusing again on Rose's tight expression. She couldn't tell what the woman was thinking, but it felt almost as though her own grief was reflected in her eyes. Rose remembered that Victoria knew what it was like to live a long time without the man she loved, as she had been doing it for decades. For a moment, she thought they might be able to commiserate over that shared pain.

And then it was gone. The Queen's eyes hardened. "Remove them from the public eye at once! I want them brought before me."

* * *

_September, 1883._

_London, England._

As Rose expected, they were brought to Windsor Castle. The ride had been unpleasant after being shoved into the first carriage with two high-standing women who clearly did not appreciate being stored with prisoners. They made a show of whispering behind fans and giving loud sniffs of disapproval whenever they looked at Rose and Jack.

Rose ignored their gazes pointedly, fixing her gaze out the window. The sight of the castle did nothing for her, having seen it before of school trips as a kid. Jack, on the other hand, observed as they were brought along, making congenial comments towards the ladies who largely ignored him.

Once inside, as they walked through the splendid halls behind two guards, Rose felt the nerves she should have felt hours before hitting her.

"No flirting," muttered Rose to Jack suddenly. His finger hit her hand in acknowledgment. "And let me talk."

He made a sound of discontent, disguising it as a cough as a passing servant gave him a narrow look. Rose caught his eye and tried to impress upon him her insistence. True, he was far better than she was at getting what he wanted. There was a history here that he had little part in. It made more sense for her to take the lead.

She kept her eyes fixed on the back of the men leading them. The halls around her seemed a blur of color and glamor that might have caught her attention years ago, but now seemed unimportant.

Abruptly, the men stopped and turned on their heels. One took station next to the door whilst the other opened it and led them through. Rose stumbled, to her shame, before following Jack into the room.

"You are to wait here until Her Majesty arrives," said the man. He left without another word, shutting the door.

Jack tutted. "Not big on friendliness here, are they?"

If she had to guess, she believed they had been brought to the Queen's private audience chamber. It was a horribly gaudy room. An elegant chandelier hung low in the room that was paneled with dark wood etched with artwork and oval portraits. A small fireplace acted as seating with a large mirror facing a small sofa. There was one other chair in the room. Overall, unwelcoming.

Rose stepped gingerly around the expensive looking furniture to the window. After the long journey through the halls of the castle, she had no clue which direction she was facing. She could see the other end of the building across a field of grass with wide, dirt paths around it. What could be the Round Tower was off to the right.

Jack continued to walk in circles behind her, analyzing the décor. She knew he'd like to sit and she was glad he didn't. She wasn't much for the monarchy in her own time, much less now, and hardly knew a thing about how to conduct herself with royalty. What worked for one royal family, insulted another. It was best to err on the side of caution and not touch anything.

They were made to wait exactly 26 minutes before the door was swung briskly open once more. The same guard from before stepped into the room.

"Her Majesty, Queen Victoria," he introduced, bowing as the woman herself swept into the room as gracefully as one could with a cane. Jack bowed and Rose lowered herself in a curtsy.

Victoria hardly spared them a glance as she made immediately for the sofa, waving a dismissive hand in her servant's direction.

As he left, Rose traded a look with Jack. He gestured to the chair. Her eyes widened. Did he mean for her to sit? Surely not. If the Queen sat, did that mean they could as well? There was only one chair, as neither of them would dare join Victoria on her sofa. He tilted his head to the chair once more.

With a glance to the Queen, Rose found a baleful stare leveled at her. Quickly, she hastened to the chair, trying to maintain her dignity.

"If I recall, Dame Rose, I was quite clear about my position on your presence amongst my people," began Victoria imperiously, not one for pleasantries. Despite her small stature, she managed to look down her nose at them.

Rose felt the ridiculous urge to laugh. Her Majesty was certainly _not amused._

Instead, she demurred, "You were, Your Majesty."

The Queen waved her hand in Rose's direction. "Yet, here you remain."

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied with a nod.

"Explain yourself, child," snapped the woman, her impatience getting the better of her.

Her mouth tightened at the corners, "I am no child, ma'am."

"And yet you bear the appearance of one."

Rose couldn't help the smile that fought its way onto her face at their petty banter. It felt wrong. Bitter, somehow. It seemed she could not escape the mention of her affliction. Pushing back the discontent, she focused on the Queen, saying, "Appearances can be most deceiving, ma'am, as you are, no doubt, well aware."

The allusion was not lost on Victoria. Her eyes flared with anger. "You are wandering dangerously close to impertinence, Dame Rose."

It had sounded better in her head than it did out load, apparently. Her attempts to sound educated were pitiful. Perhaps Jack should have taken the lead on this after all.

"Please accept my apologies," she said with her head inclined and eyes lowered in a show of deference. She elected to remain silent unless asked to speak.

"Well?"

"Ma'am?"

Victoria huffed, fidgeting in her seat. "Did you manage to distract yourself with your own wit? Why are you here, Dame Rose?"

"I come to speak with you about the organization known as Torchwood."

The Queen's face grew stony. Her hand that was clawed on the arm of the sofa clenched harder whilst her cane tip skipped forward in the carpet. Her rage was almost impressive.

"I have no idea of what you speak. There is only the manor called Torchwood in my queendom," she hissed.

A more direct approach then, Rose decided, leaning forward. "Quite. Would you say you have become accustomed to the strange and mysterious happenings of life, ma'am?"

The Queen gave an aggravated laugh, "I believe there is no use pretending otherwise where you are concerned."

"Then this confession should not be too outlandish for you to accept. It's been nearly 20 years since I last saw you."

As the Queen's face paled in shock and disbelief, Rose felt those years within herself. 20 years. She hadn't said that out loud yet. 19 years, four months, and three days, if she were to be exact. 15 of those years had been spent without her family, two and a half were spent locked in a parallel world, and the most fantastic year and a half had been spent with _him. _She had spent more time without him than with him and yet she craved nothing more then to be back in the TARDIS.

Forcing herself back to task, she asked, "Would you like to know about the impact the manor called Torchwood will have on the future of your empire?"

If there was a touch of scorn in her voice at the word 'empire,' it was lost in the ominous phrasing. She wanted to pat herself on the back for that one. Especially as Victoria's face whitened further.

"In hundreds of years, Torchwood will become one of the pioneer organizations in space travel. It will go where mankind has never gone before, representing the human race to other worlds and peoples. It will help discover new worlds, helping humankind spread across the universe and make an impact wherever it goes."

Rose did not say the impact would always be a good one. That a given in her mind. Humans were capable of great damage on their own planet. What they would do as they spread across the universe was no different.

"You did not risk death to tell me that Torchwood is a good idea," murmured Victoria.

She nodded. "Too right. The path to greatness is often riddled with indiscretions. In this case, the indiscretions lead to the risk of your empire and the entire Earth. Torchwood operates outside of the government's control. That is a good thing when you don't want the whole of your kingdom knowing that alien species and threats exist. It is also a bad thing, as there is no oversight to help control the worst impulses of those individuals who work for it."

"They are under my control," interrupted the Queen with a scowl.

Rose's brow arched. "Are they truly? Even if they are, will they be forever? Forgive me, ma'am, but you are not immortal. Torchwood will live long past you and your children and your children's children. It will come to operate on its own, free of censure even from the crown."

Some of this was supposition. She didn't know how much control Elizabeth II had over Torchwood. She imagined it was little as she was purely monarch for show by the Rose's time.

"And how do you come by this knowledge?" asked Victoria, settling back in her seat and rolling her cane in her hand.

Rose took a deep breath discretely. "Because I was born in 1986. I have already lived through the damage that Torchwood will inflict on our world."

The Queen let out a laugh that was most unlike anything she could have expected. It was harsh, derisive. Rose risked a look up at Jack's face. He was looking at the monarch with a calmness she could not relate to.

"You expect me to believe all of this nonsense? 20 years, and you hardly look a day older than the last I saw you. Born over a hundred years in the future, coming here to plague me with events that will happen well after my time. There have been many attempts in my long life to trick me into believing I am mad or inept, but this is by far the most elaborate."

Rose couldn't believe her ears. The woman before her would have died rather than submit to the threat of a werewolf. Yet, here she sat, balking at the truth she said she could handle.

Jack disobeyed her earlier instructions. Smoothly, he stepped closer, and spoke directly, "Ma'am, we are here to help you, not hinder you or your empire. The creation of Torchwood was a stroke of genius. You are keeping England ahead of the rest of the Earth, making your people the face of the species, preparing your queendom for a world they have not even heard a whisper of yet. Humankind is not alone, you know this. Alien species will continue to come to this planet, as they have done for thousands of years. Being prepared for this, in a new age, takes more than creating an organization with no guidance, however. We seek only to give you insight to lead your people to greatness."

Rose held her breath. It was a much more romantic speech than the one she would have given. She did not admire Torchwood, nor did she appreciate the creation of it. They would do far more damage than good before they learned better. If they did. One could only hope that after Canary Wharf, they will take a new direction.

Victoria was a woman who liked to be flattered though. She liked to think she was the best thing for her people. Here was an area that Jack excelled. He was able to trick people into thinking he thought just as highly about them as they did themselves.

He pressed on. "Like with all things, it will take time for Torchwood to become as effective as it should be. Your technology is limited but growing quickly. With the right direction, you could avoid the more unsavory actions that could cause the organization to stray from the path of good."

"If, as you say, Torchwood eventually represents the whole of humanity, why does what they do in the future need your help? Surely, they reached that point without your assistance," observed Victoria, much calmer now.

Rose nodded. "Tell me, what is the goal of Torchwood right now?"

"To investigate strange happenings and to fight them. Such as the events in Scotland."

"When I formally met Torchwood for the first time, before they find a better path, they had made it their prerogative to take alien technology and weaponize it. They say their motto is, 'If it's alien, it's ours.' They pull foreign technology onto Earth and nearly tear the world apart because of it. They lost sight of their mission. Instead of fighting strange happenings, they were causing it. If it weren't for me and the Doctor, all of humanity would have ceased to exist."

Victoria had turned her gaze to the windows during Rose's speech. She looked to be far away, seeing another world. It was dangerous to give her this much information about the future. However, she knew that there was nothing the woman could do about what was coming.

"What happened to the Doctor, Dame?" asked the Queen finally, her gaze returning.

Rose's breath caught. "We were separated. As I am sure you have gathered, we travelled in time together. And now, I don't know where he is." She quickly added on, "He doesn't know I'm here either. He likely believes me to be dead."

That was another lie. Explaining another universe was not something she could stomach today. She already felt as though she could get sick any moment.

The grief that had been shared in a brief meeting of eyes earlier in the day returned between the two women. Victoria was no stranger to loss. She knew what it felt like to be separated without return to the people she loved. Prince Albert, Lord Melbourne, John Brown – all men she loved above all else who unwillingly left her to shoulder the pain by herself.

She was well rehearsed in switching out of her grief and using official matters to focus herself. That showed clearly when she cleared her throat and brought them back on track with something that threw Rose for a loop.

"What was your role in the incident in Perivale?"

Taken aback, Rose admitted, "None, ma'am. We have only heard rumors of the event."

"As have we," confessed Victoria bitterly. "From the tales, it was another attempt on my queendom. You could understand why I tire of such things."

Rose nodded. "You've survived many attempts on your life and country. As have your predecessors and as will your successors. England has been and will continue to be an impressive empire. Many alien species see it as an opportunity to take control of Earth."

"And do what with it, precisely?" she snapped. "Rule over the people who would only rebel?"

"Some, maybe," said Jack, "Others however see the profit. Earth is rich with resources that be used across the universe, including the people. Events like the ones in Scotland and Perivale will happen with more frequency as the human race advances over the next few centuries."

With the air of a woman defeated, Victoria asked, "What do you propose, Dame?"

Rose cleared her throat. "Captain Harkness and I have been trying to go home for the past 13 years. We are at a disadvantage here, without the technologies we are used to. With your permission, we could work alongside Torchwood as an aid until we find a way home."

Victoria laughed, "As you did at Torchwood Manor? We lost several lives that day before you swaggered off, leaving us with the mess."

Rose had to admit that the carelessness she and the Doctor often had in leaving the scene after an adventure was regrettable. In hindsight, it made sense that he was so often blamed for the very thing he had prevented. In this case, whoever, it was been out of their hands.

"What were we supposed to do? You banished us," she told her. She could feel her temper rising quickly. "We saved your life from a threat you had no understanding of, and you immediately blamed us for it happening. 'This is not my world,' you said. But _it is. _This is everyone's world and you don't get to deny it just because you don't like reality."

Queen Victoria stood quickly, shaking on her legs. "Remember who you are addressing, _Dame!"_

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," interrupted Jack, remaining unphased when the Queen turned her glare on him. "It will take another fifty years before this organization could reach Rose's level of expertise, and another century and a half to reach mine. We don't age, we have immense knowledge of the future, and we are trained fighters. What we are offering you is invaluable."

Rose, trying to reign in her temper, added, "We have no desire to cause any more harm to you or our planet. We want to help, cleanup and all. We won't just disappear or leave you with a mess to cleanup."

Another lie. They'd do it in a heartbeat.

Victoria sat once more, a frown firmly in place. She swept a calculating eye over them both, asking, "My people will not accept your…aberrance. How do you intend to remain incognito if you do not change?"

"We currently live under the names James and Marion Harrison, which we will change if you introduce us to Torchwood. As you can see, my hair has changed, and my accent has become lighter over the years. If we avoid Lady Isobel, we could begin anew. I admit that will not hold long term, and despite my hope that this won't be long term, we could arrange disappearances for ourselves every ten years or so."

"If we're lucky, we could get a hold of some perception filters, but that's thinking long term," interjected Jack.

Victoria did not seem to be wholly convinced of this detail. Rose couldn't blame her. Discovery of who they were could threaten the secrecy of Torchwood and potentially expose them on a level that would be dangerous for everyone involved.

Rose had to trust that they would find a way out of this before it got to that point. Any other thought would kill whatever remained of her old self.

"I have no desire to keep contact with you, Dame," said Victoria finally, "My feeling regarding your recklessness and depravity is unchanged. Despite that, I understand the value of your expertise, having seen it with my own eyes. I will allow this under conditions."

There would never be any love between Rose and Victoria. At this moment, however, Rose could kiss the other woman for granting them this one mercy.

"My empire is vast. Torchwood has set up on our little island, and they struggle to do so beyond here. As you have said, you have more experience and knowledge that any of my people. You can tend to the reports coming from far away lands, where my people are unable to go while maintaining the home offices. This will allow you to easily to disguise yourselves in the event you remain in this time for more than a decade."

This was unexpected. Rose looked to Jack, hoping for something that she couldn't quite grasp in her mind. In equal parts, this was the best and worst idea she ever heard. The Doctor came to England so frequently, what if they missed him because they were in Jamaica? On the other hand, what if they missed him because they were so determined to remain in England?

The Queen continued, unknowing to her inner turmoil, "You will spend little time in England, lowering your chances of exposure. If you come here, it must be with the express permission of the royal household or your superiors at Torchwood. I will tell them you are of a special branch of field operations for them, acting with the utmost secrecy."

When Rose didn't respond, Jack did. Bowing his head, he said, "I think this an arrangement that benefits us all."

"Very well," said the Queen, rising to her feet.

"I have a condition as well," declared Rose as she stood. Fortune favors the bold, or some nonsense.

Victoria's glare came back full force. "You are not in any position to make demands."

"Perhaps not, but this is something I could do without your permission. This is me asking for it," she returned, chin raised. "Remove the name Rose Tyler form the Torchwood Charter. There will come a time when that name must be forgotten. People will die otherwise."

They stared each other down.

"I would say you exaggerate, but it has become quite clear that you take this seriously," said Victoria. She sighed, seemingly put out that she couldn't hold this over Rose's head.

"I do," she swore.

"It will be done. Prince Albert will handle any further communications with you and your companion," said Victoria, with a harsh glance over at Jack.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," demurred Jack.

Rose echoed him in a whisper, eyes locked with Victoria for a long moment. At last, the Queen gave a sniff. She turned away from them and snatched a bell from a small table. It rang shortly and loudly. Immediately, the door popped open and the Queen left them.

As the door creaked close, Rose's eyes closed with it, a relieved sigh escaping her. Finally, something real to do.

* * *

**AN: **Hello, readers! As I have stated on my profile, I am not a huge fan of author's notes and therefore will not often be leaving them in my stories. However, I felt that at ten chapters in, this was the appropriate place to address you at last! Firstly, I want to thank you all dearly for reading my story and leaving reviews! It makes my day to know people are enjoying my story as much as I am enjoying writing it.

Secondly, I have to apologize for such a long time in between updates. I had to rewrite this a few times, which was frustrating.

As you can no doubt tell by this point, this is a story heavily focused on character development. The slow path changes us all, even as there are things and people from our past that we cling too. In this case, both of the characters have a romanticized relationship with a specific time frame from their past. Despite that, Rose and Jack cannot and will not remain the same people always. Life happens, and they have to roll with the punches. By this point, they have been violently separated from their families and homes, they have been, by all appearances, left behind by the Doctor, they lost a dear friend/lover and their child, and they have spent over a decade trying to get home in a time period that is, considering where they are from, primitive. That leaves a mark on a person, particularly when that person is aware that there is so much that could have been done and so much more to life than what they are living through.

If you can tell, both of them are displaying their coping mechanisms fairly well. While alone, Rose was a bit of a mess, indulging in pity for herself and allowing herself to sink into what she thought was her lot in life. Yeah, she was looking for a way to England where she might have a higher chance of finding the Doctor, but she clearly wasn't rushing in those first two years with the Allens. If, for two years, you spent every waking moment fighting for something and for that something to happen in a violent, unexpected way that almost derails any progress you had been making, your head wouldn't be on straight either. And then she and Jack are reunited - suddenly it's all action again. It's all about leads and strange news. They had a way to siphon off their emotional trauma through activity and by using each other as a way to stay afloat.

In the face of trauma, they both have their own way of dealing with it. Both Rose and Jack are a little bit selfish. I mean, after all, they both made it a goal to pursue their own happiness in the form of finding the Doctor, placing themselves in a shitty situation with no regard to the lives they lead before him and with little care paid to anything else going on around them. When Jack fell in love, Rose resented it because it was a wrench in her plans, even though she recognizes that he deserves his own happiness. When that happiness is taken from them, so swiftly, they fall back into their coping mechanisms. Jack is indulgent and self depreciating while Rose uses his misery to ignore her own.

And now they have both died in incredibly violent ways - though there are key differences for them. Jack's death jolts him back into action, though the self hatred and grief clearly lingers. Rose's death depresses her. The very thing that would have the best news in the world when she was traveling with the Doctor appears now to be a curse. She's no longer the young, hopeful woman we meet in series one. Now she's nearing her forties and her experiences have changed her. She's been hurt and caused hurt. She's loved and lost. She's been forced away from her friends, her family, the man she loves, and her sense of self.

I have highly specific plans for the futures of Rose and Jack, and how that all relates to the Doctor in the long run. This process consists of a lot of refining. I know exactly where I want the story to go, but the struggle lies within encapsulating large time spans without dragging on or skipping anything big. There's a fine balance there.

Anyway, that's enough out of me for now. Thank you, again, for reading and reviewing!


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